


Echoes of Longing

by florianschild, Sammybunny711



Category: The Rifter - Ginn Hale
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Gay Character, Canon Gay Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Nayeshi AU, POV Alternating, Pining, Slow Build, Slow Burn, novel-length
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-05-20 07:45:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 105,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14890446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/florianschild/pseuds/florianschild, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sammybunny711/pseuds/Sammybunny711
Summary: Instead of throwing away the mysterious letter addressed to his roommate, John pockets it along with the key. Instead of going home to find his sword destroyed, Kahlil accompanies John and his friends up the mountain to the shattered remains of the Great Gate.Two decisions that will echo outward into a new future, but every choice has the potential to twist fate back to where it began. And no two people have more power to change the echoes of fate than the Rifter and his Kahlil.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has truly been a labor of love for both of us. We get up before work every weekday and spend an hour writing together, slowly adding bit by bit to what will become a novel-length story. The premise was Flor's idea and we took that and ran off into the sunset with it. Both of us have nothing but adoration and (obsession) for the Rifter series by Ginn Hale. We have each read the entire series multiple times and have tried to make sure the canon elements are as consistent as possible (even as we play around with the divergence from canon and ask “what if?”), which sometimes means taking a break from the writing to hunt down an obscure detail from the novellas. 
> 
> This is a work-in-progress, and we have plans to update biweekly. We should end up with approximately 20 chapters by the time this journey is over.
> 
> Thank you all for checking out this fanfic and for any kudos or comments you want to throw our way. We greatly appreciate any feedback you might have. Happy reading.

John’s sweaty palm dampened the torn envelope in his hand as he held it out to Kyle. Shame and guilt picked at the edges of his mind and he glanced away from the piercing dark eyes that stared at the offering in his hand. Not for the first time, John wished he had thrown the envelope _and_ it’s contents away in the trash before heading out that day, but his conscience had reared its ugly head and here they were. 

“I’m sorry. My curiosity got the better of me,” John said, trying not to mumble. 

He felt like he was five years old again, trying to apologize to one of his brothers for stealing baseball cards. 

Kyle didn’t move at first and after a moment, John thought he wasn’t going to reach out at all, but then warm fingers brushed his own and gently retrieved the parchment envelope. It slid out of John’s hand like water and a sense of profound loss echoed in the chambers of his heart. He couldn’t explain it. It was just a key and a single word note. It didn’t even belong to him and yet something about its absence tore at him, as if an entire world had slipped through his fingers. Perhaps it had.

“You opened my mail,” Kyle said simply.

“I’m sorry,” John repeated.

A flush heated his cheeks and he shifted his feet on the mossy earth beneath them. Somewhere farther up the mountain, he heard Bill’s whoops and Laurie’s laughter. At least they were having fun. John would rather be _anywhere_ else right now. Why had Kyle even come with them? 

Kyle lifted the broken flap on the back of the envelope and pushed his long fingers inside. He pulled out both the note and the key. Black brows furrowed as Kyle took in the note and it’s damning word. He said nothing, but--

_Don’t._

John could still see it scrawled in its spidery script, could still feel the shape and weight of the key against his palm.

Kyle’s eyes flicked up to meet his.

A warm breeze ghosted through the trees around them, bringing with it the scent of rain and petrichor. John’s skin crawled with the sensation of wrongness between them and yet Kyle still said nothing. Eventually, Kyle folded the note neatly and slipped both it and the key into his pocket. He didn’t ask why. Didn’t scream at John. Didn’t pull out one of those copious knives he always seemed to have on him and cut John’s throat. He just turned around and walked up the dirt track towards Laurie’s and Bill’s voices in the distance. 

John balked, blinking slowly at the lack of reaction. He hadn’t admitted it to himself, but he’d actually been frightened of Kyle’s response to the invasion of privacy. And now?

“Hey, wait!--” John reached out and grabbed Kyle’s shoulder, spinning him around. The movement sent John’s backpack swinging on his back and nearly toppled him over. He regained his composure and glared at the other man. “That’s it? No lecture? No anger?”

Kyle peered at the hand, a strange expression darting across his face before it eased into a calm flatness. “Why would I be angry?”

John’s eyes widened. “I--you--” he sputtered. “You’re the most private person I know and I invaded that privacy because I couldn’t keep my curiosity in check. You’re not even mad?”  
Kyle rubbed at the back of his neck, brow furrowing. “I’ve never received a letter before,” he said absently. “I guess I didn’t realize they were supposed to be private.”

_What?_

John shook his head and tried to quell the immense frustration that arose in his chest. He should be used to this weirdness. He had known Kyle was strange and eccentric from the first moment he saw him. Of course people probably didn’t send letters to guys with tattoos on their eyelids. People like that tended to put others off. If it weren’t for Kyle’s money and relatively quiet lifestyle in the house, John wouldn’t even be talking to him, let alone reading his mail.

“You’ve never gotten a letter before. _Ever?_ ”

“No,” Kyle said mildly, shaking his head. “So thanks, I guess, for giving it to me. Um, why did you wait until now, though? I mean, why not back at the house?”

The stain on John’s cheeks deepened as the shame spread through him. “I...didn’t really know how to give it to you. Without you getting angry. I guess.”

Kyle’s gaze fell to the ground, and he kicked at a crumble of yellow marble that had fallen from one of the boulders around them. He looked like he wanted to say something before a particularly loud shriek of delight from Laurie drew his eyes up the hill. He winced as the sudden movement pulled at his bandaged shoulder. Slowly he turned back to John. “I’m sorry I was gone for so long. I shouldn’t have left you to pay the water bill on your own.”

John’s attention zeroed in again on the bandage peeking out above the collar of Kyle’s shirt before saying, “It’s fine. You covered it and that’s enough. Maybe let’s not cut it so close next time.” He looked back to Kyle’s fathomless eyes. “What happened to you anyway?”

It was the first time he’d dared ask about Kyle’s personal life. Whatever he got up to was not his business, but John hadn’t seen Kyle for weeks and he truly didn’t want to be in the same situation with the bills again. If his roommate was some MMA fighter or hit man instead of the milkman Kyle claimed to be, he wanted to know.

Kyle’s eyes flicked intently over John’s face, trying to read something in his expression. His lips formed gently around the words “next time,” whispering them on a breath. Then he blinked and bit his lip. “I got a dog. I forgot to tell you.”

It was John's turn to feel affronted. “The rental agreement said no pets.”

“She’s really well-behaved,” Kyle said, his voice betraying a hint of worry.

John groaned. Just because she was well-behaved didn’t negate the fact that she was a pet. An actual animal that would be living in their home with them. It wasn’t that he didn’t like dogs. They were fine for the most part, but he didn’t want to have to deal with the noise of the door closing for 3am walks and accidents and trash strewn all over… He inhaled a lungful of air and sighed. 

“Just...keep her under control, will you?” he asked, trying not to be a total jerk about it.

Kyle’s eyes widened. “Yeah, absolutely. You’re not going to kick me out?” 

John felt like a complete asshole when he actually considered it for five seconds. But then he remembered his near struggle to pay the bills in Kyle’s brief absence--remembered all that he had contemplated doing in order to come up with the funds. It wasn’t worth it. Kyle was an enigma to him, but he seemed to be some sort of independently wealthy enigma and John needed his money.

“No. Of course not,” he finally bit out.

Despite the good news, Kyle’s face fell and he looked back down at the ground. “Thanks,” he muttered. “We should probably get moving if we’re going to get a better look at those rocks.”  
John wondered at Kyle’s demeanor, but didn’t push it. “Yeah. Let’s head up the trail.”

It felt as though a rush of sound and sensation flooded into his awareness as Kyle turned away and started up the path. Birdsong and the whistling of wind through the trees tickled John’s ear and he wondered if all had been somehow silent while he’d been talking with Kyle. Everything felt unnaturally loud now. They continued hiking until the murmur of Laurie’s and Bill’s voices grew distinct and clear around the corner of a particularly large, jutting formation of the strange yellow stones. He put a hand to a boulder to brace himself as he hopped over a large tree root and hissed.

A bitter revulsion rippled through his gut and he savagely whipped his hand away from the rock. He stared at the offending stone and furrowed his brow. His eyes flicked to the side to find Kyle looking at him with an odd intensity. John’s lips parted but he was interrupted by--

“You okay, John?” Bill tossed over his shoulder. “You two didn’t get up to any mischief down there did you?”

Bill’s teasing tone snapped John out of his stupor and he turned his head away from Kyle to face his friend. 

He ignored Bill’s question in favor of, “Where could all these have come from?”

Laurie, starting back down the hill toward them, must have seen the confusion on his face. “I swear, Toffee, they just appeared out of nowhere,” she called down.

“Stones don’t just _appear_ out of nowhere,” John grumbled under his breath.

“Maybe they were dropped out of the sky by aliens!” Bill said, fluttering his fingers through the air in a whimsical gesture.

“Yeah,” Laurie exclaimed, jumping onto Bill’s back as her momentum carried her down the path. “Aliens that are building their first outpost here, ready to send observation studies back to their homeworld.” She smiled and ruffled Bill’s hair.

“Unhand me, woman!” Bill growled theatrically before spinning her around in a dizzying circle. 

John couldn’t understand how they were so cavalier about this, but, then again, Laurie and Bill had always been that way. Unconcerned about life’s unexplainable perplexities that always sent his own mind into a tailspin of thought and worry. 

Kyle had been quiet throughout their speculation, but he turned to John with a look of curiosity on his face. “Does it bother you to touch them?”

He turned and pondered Kyle’s question. It seemed a strange thing to ask, but then again John’s response to touching the stone had been irrational and odd. Looking again at the yellow, marble-like surface, he narrowed his eyes. Everything about it repulsed him. He could no more touch the stone than a corpse. But why?

“It does,” he said simply, not elaborating.

“Ok so, seriously Toffee, what do you think these are?” Laurie asked.

“It told you its ali--” Laurie thrust a hand over Bill’s mouth. 

A muscle twitched in John’s jaw. “I have no idea.”

For some reason, his eyes simply couldn’t keep from straying to Kyle in this situation. Something about the way Kyle looked at him--at the stones--unnerved him. As though his crazy roommate understood something fundamental about the universe and yet couldn’t completely fathom that knowledge at the same time.

Laurie groaned and rolled her eyes. “Focus, lovebirds,” she said, glancing between John and Kyle. “What are we dealing with here?” She grinned impishly and took a few steps forward to stand next to Kyle where he was gazing at the stones with his eyebrows drawn together.

“I’ve never been up here before,” Kyle said dazedly, “but I’m guessing these boulders are unusual?”

“They’re _impossible_ ,” John corrected.

Boulders like this simply didn’t form in this area at all. He stepped up to the largest that stood in the broken cradle of the others and tentatively reached out a hand. His fingers hovered over the glassy surface. Sweat beaded over his forehead and a clammy chill slithered down his spine. The pit of his stomach dropped somewhere into the vicinity of his shoes. Beside him, Kyle drew in a breath. John flicked his eyes that direction, paused, and lowered his hand again.

“Don’t touch them,” Kyle murmured, softly enough so that only John could hear. “Is this where most of them are?” He directed his question to Laurie, and she looked back to Bill for confirmation.  
“Yeah, I think so based on what we saw.” Bill shrugged.

John pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes and inhaled sharply. It didn’t make any sense. His mind rifled through ecological and geological possibilities for several minutes, but turned up entirely empty. Even if rocks like this _could_ form in this area, they _couldn’t_ simply appear overnight. That, he knew for certain, was entirely impossible. It made his head ache. For once, he wished he could be like Laurie and Bill and brush the whole thing off as some masterful cosmic joke.

“Well, whatever they are,” Bill began, running a hand through his hair. “I think they make an _epic_ camping spot.”

“Oh, yes!” Laurie enthused. “We should sleep up here tonight. Lie under the stars. Wait for the aliens to beam us up.” She gazed affectionately at Bill. 

Kyle had left the group to pace around the outside of the largest boulder. It was so tall that he disappeared from view as he rounded the edge. John tracked his movement until he was out of sight and then followed, leaving Laurie and Bill to babble about nonsense together. He adjusted the straps of his backpack as he went up the steeper incline. On the other side of the boulder, Kyle crouched before a flat section of the stone’s surface frowning. 

“Find something?” John asked.

Kyle startled at John’s voice. He looked up from the stone, his dark eyes wide. “There’s no way this should be here,” he said. He reached a hand forward, toward the rock. Gently, his finger traced over dark markings that were etched there, flowing in spirals and waves across the yellow surface.

John followed the movements of the long digit and took in the strange symbols. They were familiar somehow and yet he couldn’t place them in his mind. Not unless...he _had_ seen them before. On the key he’d discovered in that parchment envelope. The key he’d given to Kyle not a quarter of an hour ago. Kyle removed his finger, revealing a black shape that appeared to be a simple dot at first glance, but upon closer inspection was…

A keyhole. 

It couldn’t be anything else. 

“What the hell?” he breathed. John’s head whipped to the side, and he cast a withering glare at Kyle.

The other man simply knelt before the keyhole, gaze firmly fixed on the embellished stone and said nothing. But John’s eyes trailed down his lithe form to the hand that slipped into Kyle’s coat pocket--where he knew that key rested. And John knew, without having to be told, that the same key would fit perfectly into whatever lock resided within the stone.

He felt it again--the same sensation he’d endured when passing the envelope to Kyle. It was as if an entire reality lay locked away behind the boulder and yet it didn’t make any logical sense. Before he thought better of it, he put a hand out and grasped Kyle’s shoulder.

Kyle craned his neck back to look at him and John frowned at the way it pulled at the seam of the grisly scars along the pale cheeks. He forced his eyes to lock on dark irises and put all his will into his next words.

“Tell me what’s going on,” John ordered, mind steeled against refusal.

Rising smoothly from his crouch, Kyle turned completely until he was facing John. They were separated by less than a foot of space. All of the uncertainty from earlier, all of the ease that he had shown when John had returned his mail, was gone. “We need to leave,” he said. “Now.”

Into the silent space around them, John said, “Let’s go.”

 

***

None of this made any sense. Kahlil felt the tension in John’s grip on his shoulder. His face was a closed-off mask, but the bond between them thrummed with the strength of John’s confusion and curiosity. All around them, monstrous chunks of the Great Gate pierced through the forest, and here - where the outcroppings emerged the most prominently - was a keyhole that absolutely should not exist. 

The keyhole had all of the indications that it was placed there by his order: the half-moon symbols circled it, and the flowing Payshmura script spelled out holy incantations in swirling loops that fanned outward. But the keyhole was wrong. Why would they send him the command - _don’t return to Basawar, don’t bring the Rifter, don’t come back_ \- and then create a keyhole that opened the Great Gate?

Kahlil wasn’t sure, but he knew that he didn’t want to tease out the meaning standing here with the Rifter so very close to the passage between the worlds. He needed to get John off of this mountain.

“Good, let’s get out of here,” he said, trying for nonchalance.

John nodded firmly and removed his hand from Kahlil’s shoulder. Without another word, he moved out around the boulder with the keyhole and back towards Laurie and Bill.

Spotting them, Laurie waved. It was hard to believe that they had met just this morning. She was already so open with him. Kahlil liked Laurie and Bill. On the way up the mountain, they had let him ride in the front of the Jeep and offered him licorice whips while Laurie leaned between the seats and chatted his ear off. What would they make of this sudden departure? Kahlil wouldn’t even have agreed to come along with them if Laurie’s heartbroken expression and continued cajoling as John paid their breakfast tab hadn’t worn him down.

“Hey, Kyle, wouldn’t this be the perfect place to camp tonight?” Laurie asked, when they got within earshot.

“We have to get going, I’m afraid,” Kahlil said, looking at John.

John shook his head at Laurie. “Kyle and I are heading back. You and Bill can use my equipment if you want, though. I can come pick you up tomorrow afternoon.”

Bill smirked at the two of them, eyes twinkling. “Oh? Going back to the house? _Alone?_ Do you need a chaperone?” 

“Ignore him,” Laurie said to Kahlil, poking an elbow into Bill’s ribs.

Kahlil raised his eyebrows back at her, in what he hoped was a look of innocent confusion. He glanced at John, but couldn’t tell what he thought of the continued teasing.

“Well, babe?” Laurie asked, looking at Bill. “What do you think? A romantic night under the stars? Do you have to work tomorrow?”

“My darling, I’m never too busy for a romantic evening with you. Especially with something like work,” Bill crooned, sticking his tongue out on the last words.

Kahlil wasn’t sure he would have appreciated Bill’s overture, but Laurie seemed to. “Aww, you’re so sweet,” she said, smiling up at him. “Thank goodness we bought so many Hershey bars. Always be prepared!” She giggled.

Kahlil didn’t like the idea of Laurie and Bill, or anyone really, remaining here with the broken remains of the Great Gate, but he needed to get John away as quickly as he could. How much longer would it take to talk Laurie and Bill out of their romantic night under the stars? He turned to John.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Yeah,” John said. “Here, Laurie.” He shrugged off his backpack and Laurie made to lift it before dropping it with an _oof!_

Bill laughed, stepping in and pushing up the sleeves on his arms. “Let me handle it, little woman.” 

A dry smirk crossed John’s handsome features when Bill could barely lift it either. “Want me to carry it to your chosen spot for the night?”

“Oh, very funny, Toffee,” Laurie huffed. “But actually, yes please.”

She laughed as John picked up the pack with little visible effort. Kahlil stayed where he was while John trailed after his friends to a clearing a few yards off the path. John moved smoothly through the detritus of twigs and pine needles that covered the ground, never sparing a glance for his footing and never stumbling. Kahlil bit the inside of his lip, worrying it between his teeth. Today had started out so promisingly. He hated to be the one to drag John away and put an end to their fun. How much more would he have preferred staying here with John’s friends, camping out under the stars, and falling asleep with the sound of John’s breath so very close to him? 

But he thought of the letter and the key in his pocket, and remembered that he had a duty, one that did not take his personal feelings into account. It was time to get home.

“Alright. Don’t break any of my stuff,” John muttered to Laurie and Bill. “I expect to find that backpack and all my gear in perfect condition tomorrow.”

“Yeah, yeah, off with you! Go hang with your new boyfriend.” Bill shooed him away with both hands while Laurie rummaged through the contents of John’s bag. 

John froze at the words and didn’t start moving in Kahlil’s direction until several breaths had passed.

Taking the path of least resistance, Kahlil smiled at Bill and Laurie. “I’m sure you’ll have a great time up here. Enjoy the fresh air.” He was tempted to grab John’s hand to pull him along more quickly, but John had avoided his eyes since Bill’s boyfriend comment, and he didn’t want to make John uncomfortable. He settled for walking out ahead, and then had to turn and wait for John to unlock the passenger door when he got back to the Jeep first.

John still hadn’t spoken by the time he got to the Jeep and unlocked it. “You okay?” Kahlil asked him as he climbed into the passenger side.

“I’m fine,” John said, voice hard. He started the engine without further comment and proceeded to carefully turn the car around on the packed dirt path.

Kahlil sighed, sensing that John wasn’t in the mood for conversation. He could hardly blame him. Between the disconcerting feeling of the broken Gate and the incessant teasing of John’s friends, Kahlil felt overwhelmed himself.

“Mind if I roll down the window?” he asked after a few moments of silence had passed.

John didn’t answer, merely reached over with his left hand and unlocked the child safety switch for the windows. 

“Thanks,” Kahlil muttered, settling against the door and letting the breeze ruffle the escaping strands of his braid.

The car ride didn’t improve from that point. The yellowpetal water from that morning had completely worn off, and every bump and switchback down the mountain seemed to jar the wound in his shoulder. Kahlil couldn’t help thinking about just leaving John and going back alone through Gray Space. He imagined unlikely cover stories for a sudden disappearance. Maybe they could pull over at a rest stop and he could say he would hitch a ride later. John would probably never believe him, though. Kahlil relinquished the thought and bit the inside of his lip as they coasted over another rut.

“Are you getting car sick?” John peered his way.

Kahlil looked over at John, who had turned back to watch the road. He had a pinched, tired expression that seemed to settle around his eyes. The concern in his voice struck Kahlil as touching at that moment. He had been thinking about the pain in his shoulder and about abandoning John at the next opportunity while John had been worrying and wondering about him. He didn’t know John thought about him.

He realized he had been staring at John without answering and he shook his head to clear it. “I’m fine,” he echoed John’s earlier words. “I’ll be fine.”

“Good.”

Kahlil sighed and closed his eyes, leaning back against the headrest. He tried to clear his mind and focus on his breath rather than the Great Gate, the key in his pocket, or the pain in his shoulder. It didn’t work. He cracked his eyes open and glanced over at John. He had been in John’s Jeep before, when he couldn’t think of a plausible reason for not accepting a friendly offer of a ride, but he had never had so much time to simply observe. John drove with casual concentration. His hand seemed to move unthinkingly on the shifter as he controlled their descent down the steep back roads. He kept his right hand resting there while he wasn’t shifting gears; Kahlil was caught by the way his wrist tapered down to meet the sharp upward curve of his hand. John, it seemed, was a better distraction than breath.

“You know these roads really well,” he said, suddenly desperate to draw John’s attention back.

John shrugged. “I come up here all the time. Mostly to collect samples for projects, but also to camp. It’s a beautiful place.”

“It is,” Kahlil agreed, noticing that the trees around them were thinning out as they got closer to town. John did often hike in the mountains in this area. He must be burning with questions about what caused the stones of the Great Gate to emerge at his favorite camping spot. There weren’t any good answers that Kahlil knew.

“Thanks for taking me to breakfast,” Kahlil said. “Your friends are really nice.” He didn’t want John to clam up again.

“Thanks for showing up with the rent,” John countered.

“Yeah, of course,” Kahlil said. “I mean, you hardly have to thank me for that. I’m sorry again that I cut it so close.”

“It turned out okay,” John said. He paused. A muscle flexed in his forearm where it rose toward the steering wheel. “Where were you anyway? You were gone a long time.”

Kahlil thought about what he could tell John. The key in his pocket was a sharp reminder of the duty that he was obliged to perform. It was one thing to wait until John was far enough away from his friends, until they were alone. But his orders were to kill the Rifter, not to spill his life story to him. Despite that, he desperately wanted to tell John the truth. He settled on a compromise.  
“I had some family stuff,” he said. “My sister needed help. She’s from out of town.”

“Oh. I didn’t know you had a sister. Is she okay?”

Kahlil thought of Rousma, finally here in Nayeshi with him. He had promised he would free her, and he had. He smiled. “Yeah, actually. She’s great.”

John’s lips quirked at the corners. “That’s good to hear.”

“Yeah,” Kahlil said, settling further into the seat and closing his eyes once again. The air outside was beginning to warm as they descended. John had looked almost pleased for a moment, and Kahlil let the sight of his smile play across his memory. It felt good to be the one to make John smile.

What was he going to tell John? He hoped that Rousma might have some idea of what had happened to the Great Gate, or why things seemed to have suddenly gone so wrong. The key was an obvious enough message, but how had the situation gotten to this point without anyone warning him? And once John was dead, what was he supposed to do? Didn’t they want him to come back?  
John’s house had started to feel comfortable. Kahlil thought of the evenings they had spent chatting around takeout boxes at the dining room table, or drinking coffee early in the morning while the sun began to peek through the kitchen window. Kahlil was happy there, happier than he had ever felt, but he didn’t think he could feel that way without John there as well.  
“Hey, do you have any plans tonight?” he asked, turning to John. He could feel the silence stretching on between them and couldn’t resist drawing him out.  
“Yes, I do,” John said. “And so do you.”

Kahlil cocked his head at John. He didn’t remember that they had made any plans. “I do?”

“You’re going to sit down and explain what you know. I saw the way you looked at those rocks up there--at that keyhole, or whatever it was. You apparently sent yourself a letter with a key that has symbols identical to the ones we saw on that boulder. You know something. You’re going to tell me.”

John had spoken more than Kahlil had heard him say since they had arrived at the rocks. He was upset, it was clear from his sudden outburst and the tone of his voice, but it made Kahlil smile. John had in irrepressible desire to understand the world around him. He always wanted answers, wanted to know. It was entirely unsurprising that he had reasoned through the key, the symbols on the stones of the Great Gate, and the mysterious keyhole, and found his roommate at the center of things.

There was no reason he couldn’t tell the Rifter the truth before he killed him. But he couldn’t say anything now, while his weapons were locked away in his room and John was driving them along a highway at sixty miles an hour.

“Right,” Kahlil said slowly. “We can definitely talk about the letter and the key. I don’t know if I can explain much beyond that.”

John sent him a mildly irritated look, but eventually turned back to the road and nodded curtly. “Fine.”

The remainder of the car ride passed by in silence. Kahlil considered the evening ahead of him and felt less certain with each moment about exactly what all the strange elements of this day had meant. He hoped that Rousma might come up with a better explanation than his mind seemed capable of offering.

Finally, John backed the Jeep into the small parking space in the alley behind Indian Street. When the engine cut, Kahlil could feel the absence of the sound and vibration like an echo in his bones. He paused for a beat, eyes still closed, and drew in a steadying breath. He opened his eyes, wondering how to even begin to explain all the strange things that had happened that morning, but by the time he turned to look at the driver’s seat, John had left.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who read Chapter 1. And thanks for returning for Chapter 2! If you feel so inclined, let us know what you think. We love getting feedback!

Rousma looked up from her spot on the rug when Kahlil unlocked his door and slipped into his bedroom. He closed the door behind himself and sank against it to the floor. His shoulder throbbed in time with his heartbeat, but he didn’t have the strength to deal with it yet.

“You was gone a long time,” Rousma yawned. Kahlil looked at her. She was curled into a ball on the floor, her yellow fur still stained with blood from the wound that had killed the sorceress. Kahlil thought of Rousma wearing a second-hand dog and grinned at the notion of a thrift store for skins. His own skin probably wouldn’t sell, especially with the holes and the mending and the way that it was currently breaking out into a fever sweat.

“It wasn’t that long,” he said, levering himself to his feet and stumbling over to the spindly chair that served as a nightstand. Sinking down onto the army cot next to the chair, he groped through the piles of bandages, packets of herbs, and discarded wrappers.

Popping two painkillers into his mouth - he didn’t have the energy to brew yellowpetal water now - Kahlil dry swallowed the pills and turned to his sister.

“I received this in the mail today,” he said, digging the letter from his pocket and smoothing it out onto the floor for her to look at.

“You is getting summonses from thems that wants to hurt you,” she said, without reading the paper.

Kahlil sighed. “They sent me the ush’hala. They destroyed the Great Gate.” Rousma’s head perked up at his words and she fixed her gaze on his. “We were up in the mountains this morning,” he explained, “There are huge pieces of the gate bursting through the ground all over. And there was a keyhole in one of the stones.”

Rousma yawned again and licked her nose. “They is telling you that you is free. You is never needing to go back.”

“Is that what they’re telling me, though?” Kahlil asked her. “Why put a keyhole into the stones? How could they even do that to a Great Gate?”

“The Rifter is the only one who can alter the Great Gate,” Rousma said, settling her head back down between her paws.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “You think John created the keyhole? Why?”

“Maybe you is asking him,” she said simply. Kahlil frowned.

“How am I supposed to ask him without telling him everything?” Kahlil eased his coat off over his bandaged shoulder. The blood was showing vividly through the white cloth.

“So tells him,” Rousma said, finally climbing to her feet and padding over to where Kahlil sat. She nosed her snout under his hand and rested her head on his knee. Kahlil ran his hand along the silk of her ears and down into the scruffier fur at her neck.

“I’m meant to kill him,” Kahlil whispered, his hand automatically reaching back to stroke her again.

“How many peoples you lets them make you kill?” she replied softly. His hand stilled where it was sliding along her neck. Kahlil felt his blood drain from his face and the cold pricking feeling that replaced it. He had done horrible things for the Payshmura; no one knew that better than Rousma. But he had saved her, hadn’t he? Was saving Rousma the loose stone that set the avalanche crashing down the mountain? Could one desperate defiance breed another?

Absently, Kahlil groped for the sweatshirt that he’d discarded weeks ago onto the floor. He couldn’t leave his room covered in bloody bandages, but he couldn’t stay either. He slid the hoodie on and zipped it up to his neck. Rousma sat back onto her haunches, watching him intently.

“Where is you going?” She cocked her head in a look of doggy concern.

“I just need some air. I need to think.” He stood up, bracing himself on the chair when his vision tipped askew.

“You is going outside? Takes me with you.” She stood and took a step toward him, but he shook his head.

“I will, I promise. I just need some time. I need to figure this out. Then we’ll go wherever you like.” He grabbed the strap of the yasi’halaun from its hook on the wall and slid the blade and its case from off the belt. Pocketing it in the baggy sweatshirt, he slipped out the door without a backward glance.

 

***

 

John smoothed the towel over his still-damp hair, realizing the terry cloth had long since become useless. He just performed the action to have something to do, even if it no longer soaked up excess water. The shower had been perfunctory, too. A way to get away from Kyle for a little while. He was still in his room, sitting on his futon wondering why he couldn’t just go talk to the man.

But every time he closed his eyes, he saw those yellow stones and the keyhole with the delicate script written around the circumference. He could feel again that noxious touch that revolted him. How could a rock incite that sort of reaction? John scowled and stood up too quickly from the mattress. A rush of blood shot through his body and he nearly stumbled in a lightheaded sway. The towel around his waist fell away and he left it on the floor.

It was late evening judging by the dying light outside his blinds, which wasn’t surprising considering he’d showered until all the hot water had run out and then sulked in his room long enough that his hair was just shy of dry. He just hadn’t felt ready to confront Kyle about the stones. About his strange absences and appearance. About  _ everything _ . John wanted answers and he  _ would  _ get them, but...now? Was he ready for that?

“Screw it,” he bit out under his breath.

John hopped into a pair of boxers and then chose his most modest sweatpants and a t-shirt from his dresser, slipping them on quickly. Kyle had seemed... _ chatty _ ...in the car. He had been amiable at the restaurant.  _ Normal  _ even, if it weren’t for those tattoos on his eyes and scars edging out from his lips. But on the mountain, when John had touched the glassy surface of the boulder, Kyle had  _ known  _ something. John was sure of it. Knowledge and recognition rested in his face. Those full lips had pursed and his striking eyes stared with absolute clarity at the rocks and at...John.

Exhaling in a short burst, John opened his door and peered into the hall, past the stairs, and on to the living room. Empty. That didn’t surprise him, though. Kyle never really sat in the living room for normal things like reading or watching mindless television. He was generally only in the common space if John was there himself. Perhaps he was in his padlocked room? The dipping stairs creaked as he ascended to the second floor. Kyle’s door stood ahead of him with its ancient looking lock and John frowned at it, as though that alone would force it to yield to his will.

For a moment, he considered getting a paperclip and q-tip to try to pick the lock, but then he stopped himself, remembering Kyle had promised to tell him the truth. There was no need for breaking and entering. His roommate would be expecting company for at least some the night. John squared his shoulders and knocked on the thick door.

No answer.

John pressed his ear to the wood, listening for any sounds of activity, but all he heard was pervasive quiet. He turned to his left and nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw the ladder to the attic was down. How had he missed that the first time? But then again, he supposed he hadn’t been looking for it and it was already dark on that end of the hallway. What was Kyle doing in the attic? John couldn’t help the eerie feeling that settled in the pit of his stomach as he climbed up the rickety ladder, momentarily afraid it would crumble into brittle pieces beneath his weight as he ascended.

The dark expanse of the musty space stretched around him as John finished climbing and stepped out onto a thin rafter. The air was dry and he sneezed with the profusion of dust in the air. He never stored anything up here--didn’t own enough  _ to  _ store--and therefore as a rule never came up here. But judging by the dustless, polished path of wood from the second floor opening to the roof access ladder a few feet away, Kyle did. John bit his lip.

He couldn’t help but feel  _ lured  _ here. John’s mind flew to the image of his roommate’s copious knives. Perhaps killing off a complication was easier than telling the truth about the letter and key. He knew he was being ridiculous. Kyle had proved himself capable of acting somewhat normal today and John should relax. But his muscles still tensed as he tiptoed along the rafter to the roof access ladder.

The metal rungs were cool beneath his fingers and he took them quickly one at a time, certain of what he’d find at the top. Sure enough, the door to the roof was unlocked and John opened the hatch to take in Kyle’s lithe form sitting beneath the fading twilight. His black hair was loose and strands of it waved softly with the wind. It looked almost blue in the coming darkness and John was struck by the satiny sheen around the crown. His fingers twitched.

Kyle said nothing, but glanced over his shoulder with a small smile.

John stepped onto the roof and crossed it to sit beside his roommate. For a while, neither of them spoke. It wasn’t a comfortable silence, exactly, and John was itching for answers to his questions, but now that they were here together he couldn’t think of how to start up the conversation. A hum of energy crackled in the more-than foot of space between their bodies and again, John was reminded of their encounter in the Steamworks bathhouse. Perhaps that was his “in” for getting Kyle to talk. Before he could second guess himself too much, John spoke.

“I saw you that night at the bathhouse.” He did  _ not  _ look to see Kyle’s reaction, but his voice, when he spoke, sounded muffled. 

“I know.” He sounded tense, and John heard him swallow. “I saw you notice me. I guess you took me by surprise.”

“I didn’t know you were interested in men,” John said, finally glancing to Kyle’s profile.

Rising moonlight cast a pale blue glow over the ghastly features, throwing everything into stark contrast. Again, John wondered what had happened to give Kyle those terrible scars along his cheeks.

“I--” Kyle began, but seemed at a loss suddenly. He took a few breaths before he turned to meet John’s eyes. “I am. But nothing happened that night.” He kept his gaze steady, challenging.

John held up a hand in a gesture of peace. “It’s none of my business, Kyle. I’m certainly not judging. I was there, too, after all.”

Kyle bit his lip, his eyes falling down to study the overlong sleeves of his shirt. He shook his head, chuckling. “I can’t believe this is what you wanted to talk about,” he murmured.

John shrugged. “It’s been bothering me for two weeks. You just disappeared after I saw you. I thought I’d spooked you or something. It was a big coincidence that we were both there.”

“Right. Two weeks.” Kyle’s voice sounded faint, as if he were trying to convince himself that he had skipped out for that long. “I should have told you I was leaving,” he said, frowning at John. “I didn’t handle that well.” His head sunk to rest on his knees.

“It’s fine. Especially considering you were helping out family. I’m glad your sister’s okay,” John told him, sensing the subject of the bathhouse seemed to make Kyle uncomfortable.

Kyle’s head tipped up. “Yeah,” he said, “she is. She’s mad at me now though, I think.”

“Why?”

Kyle sighed heavily. He seemed to be considering what to say. “Our parents were killed when we were children. She is younger than I am, but she still remembers it.” Kyle paused, looking out at the lights of the city. “I’ve tried to watch over her since then. To keep her safe. Some of the things I’ve done were awful, but I did them for us. And… I guess there’s this one more awful thing that I need to do, but she doesn’t want me to do it.”

A cold chill snaked down John’s spine and his mouth dried up. “What is it?”

“ _I_ don’t want to do it,” Kyle said, ignoring John’s question. “I never did. And Rousma thinks I don’t have to anymore. She thinks that’s what the stones mean.”

_ The stones.  _ John’s mind immediately conjured images of the jutting yellow marble and even thinking of them sent waves of nausea through him. “You told her about the stones?”

Kyle’s intense gaze fixed on John again, seeming to search for something. “I told her about the stones and the letter. She’s very perceptive. And opinionated. She thinks I ought to let it go.”

Everything Kyle said raised more questions in John’s mind. “Let what go?” he asked, though he was still hung up on the “one more awful thing” that Kyle claimed he needed to do.

“Everything, maybe,” Kyle said. “It feels like everything, at least. I’ve made it that way.” He slipped his hands into his pockets and shifted to cross his legs. 

John sighed. “Kyle, you’re not making any sense. Just tell me what’s going on. You said you would.”

The corner of Kyle’s mouth twitched, pulling at the scar tissue. “I think I have to. It’s not going to make any more sense when I do, though.”

When John looked at him again, there was a mixture of anxiety and hope on his roommate’s face. A strange sensation of nostalgia feathered in John’s chest and he had no idea where it could have come from, but an imperceptible tug pulled him to Kyle in that moment. “Just try,” he said, his words soft over his tongue.

“Right,” Kyle breathed. He looked directly at John, his expression level. “The stones that we saw this afternoon? Those stones are part of a gateway that connects this world to another. It’s a portal, or it was anyway. I came back through this morning, before the Gate was destroyed.”

Whatever John had expected Kyle to say, it wasn’t that. “A gateway connecting two worlds…” he parroted, incredulous.

Kyle nodded. “This world, Nayeshi, and the world of Basawar are linked. I grew up there. It was only later - ten years ago - that I came here for the first time.”

John blinked at him. Well that was  _ one  _ way to explain the trace of Kyle’s barely-there accent and the oddities about him. He also didn’t believe it for a second. “Okay, Kyle. I actually came out here to have a real conversation, but if you don’t want to play ball, that’s fine.” He shifted to stand up, a thread of anger coiling through him.

Kyle gazed back up into the sky. “You don’t believe me,” he said, an infuriating smile playing across his lips.

“How could I? What you just said is ludicrous.” But John stilled for a second, now on his feet.

“Isn’t an eruption of boulders overnight ludicrous? Or feeling repelled by the touch of mere stone?” Kyle stood with John, nearly meeting his height. “This isn’t the first ludicrous thing you’ve heard today, is it?”

John didn’t want to admit to Kyle’s words. The boulders appearing so suddenly out of such a familiar landscape had shaken him to his core. There  _ was  _ no explanation for it and Kyle’s offering of knowledge had only served to disappoint him. How could he believe something like this? Two worlds? Kyle  _ being  _ from another world? It just...couldn’t  _ be _ . He turned to go, shutting down.

“John,” Kyle said softly. “Wait.”

He stopped, hands curling into fists at his sides. “I’m sorry,” John said. “But I should have expected nonsense from you.”

Kyle seemed to move with unnatural speed. He reached out and grasped John’s wrist, his hand encircling tightly. “Please, let me explain. I can prove it to you. I can show you something that will make you believe in ludicrous things.” He looked at John with a desperate, pleading expression.

There was an earnestness in Kyle’s face that forced John to pay attention.  _ He really believes this… _ John considered everything he knew about his roommate and landed on the side of the fence that he should at least hear him out--if only to protect himself from the potential that Kyle might fly off the handle and stab him with one of those knives or something. John could play along for a few minutes until he could maneuver himself back to the door to the attic. He reached down and pried off Kyle’s hand and crossed his arms, defiant. 

“Go on then,” he said. 

Kyle’s posture seemed to change slightly. It was hardly perceptible, beyond a taut alertness that suddenly held him. His face took on a tight look of concentration and his eyes seemed to rest on empty space in the middle distance between them, until he flicked his gaze up to look right at John. He smiled. Quickly, he raised his left hand up in front of himself, almost like he was reaching up for a high five. “Don’t freak out, okay?” he asked, pausing there for a moment.

John just narrowed his eyes, unsure of where this was going. “I’m waiting.”

Kyle’s smile widened. “Okay, okay,” he muttered. He made a motion with his raised left hand, nearly too fast for John to make out. A rush of cold air streamed past, like walking past an open freezer. Kyle’s eyes once again focused on nothing, seeming to stare right through John. Then, suddenly, they rolled back and Kyle crumpled to the shingled surface of the roof like a rag doll.  

“Kyle!” John shot forward, kneeling over the collapsed body.

He put his hands on Kyle’s shoulders, attempting to gently shake him awake, but his left hand pressed into a warm, slick substance. John brought the hand up closer to his face. It was difficult to see in the moonlight, but he knew instinctively that it was blood. Peering more closely at Kyle’s shoulder, John saw a dark bloom spreading out through the fabric of Kyle’s sweatshirt. With a frown, he tentatively pressed his hands to what was clearly a wound. Kyle groaned.

“What happened to you?” John asked, not expecting a reply.

Kyle’s eyelids fluttered and he blinked slowly several times. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, drawing his left knee toward his body. He seemed disoriented, brow furrowed in confusion. “John?” His voice came out as a hoarse whisper.

A mixture of frustration, disappointment, and soft concern mingled within him as John looked on Kyle. He was clearly hurt. Perhaps seriously. Had he hidden this from them all day? “I think we need to take a look at whatever’s going on with your shoulder.”

“Shit,” Kyle groaned, head lolling down to rest on his upraised knee. He rolled it to the side to look at John. “I swear that doesn’t usually happen.” A sheepish smile played around his lips.

“What? Collapsing into a heap because of blood loss?” John extended a hand to help Kyle up.

“It’s not from blood loss,” Kyle said absently, taking John’s hand and levering himself upright.

“Oh? Well, what is it from then?”John let go of Kyle’s hand as soon as he could stand on his own.

Kyle started to say something, but caught himself and paused. He looked at John thoughtfully. “It’s from a witch’s curse.” 

John scowled and ran a hand through his unkempt hair. “Right. A  _ witch’s _ curse. Why didn’t I think of that?”

Kyle smiled again. “You don’t believe me. I knew you wouldn’t, John.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his left hand. “I didn’t do a very convincing demonstration. I’ll make it up to you when the bleeding stops.” He glanced at John, something amused but hopeful in his expression.

John was arrested by Kyle’s features arranging themselves into a quiet look of absolute belief at his own words. The gentle smile that ghosted over Kyle’s full mouth drew his attention and John found he couldn’t stay frustrated with him for very long. 

“Come on. I restocked the first-aid kit recently. Let me take a look at your shoulder,” he prompted again, relieved at having something concrete to do with his hands--a sense of purpose in the midst of this madness.

“Fine,” Kyle assented, straightening fully to head toward the trapdoor back to the attic. He took a tentative step forward and swayed noticeably. His right arm reached out instinctively for balance and he winced.

“Easy,” John said, moving into Kyle’s space to give him an anchor to steady himself on. 

Kyle flushed when John touched him.  “Thanks,” he said, looking determinedly at his feet.

John watched Kyle’s reaction with interest before remembering that Kyle was just like him. Perhaps the flush was simply a reflex at the close proximity of another man. John cleared his throat and brought Kyle’s left arm over his own shoulders. They started walking toward the door.

“You’re welcome.”

It took some skillful positioning to maneuver Kyle safely down the ladders from the roof and the attic back into the main house, but they managed it between the two of them. John noted that the injury was apparently bad enough that it kept Kyle from using the right arm at all at this point.  _ Witch’s curse, indeed.  _ John was itching to get a look at it, hoping that what he had in his kit was enough to tidy it up. Did he still have painkillers in his medicine cabinet? Kyle would probably need those.

By the time they made it into the bathroom off the upstairs landing, Kyle had a pinched look to his features that spoke of immense pain. John helped him to the edge of the tub and told him to sit down.

“I’ll be right back. The kit’s in my bedroom,” John said.

“I’m fine here.” Kyle looked up at him from where he sat, left arm braced against the wall for balance. His skin had paled and he looked like he was still experiencing waves of dizziness.

John paused at the doorway, making sure Kyle wasn’t going to faint again, but left when his roommate didn’t topple over into the tub. His kit was stashed where it always was--at the top of his closet--and John retrieved it within a few minutes. When he returned to the bathroom, Kyle had already removed the sweatshirt. 

John nearly dropped the box.

It wasn’t the blood weeping through the swaths of bandages covering up Kyle’s shoulder that stole his attention. It was the finely carved bands of muscle layering every inch of Kyle’s chest and belly and arms. Cutting across the pale skin were old and new scars--some silvery light and others a fading red. The sudden impulse to trace them curled his fingers tighter around the plastic edges of the first-aid kit. That same question,  _ What happened to you?,  _ died on his tongue. He forced himself to look away, to set the box onto the counter by the sink, and open the lid.

“John?” Kyle prompted. “Does it look that bad? I should take the bandages off.” He started to carefully pick at the knot holding the cloth strips together.

“Here, I’ll do it,” John said, reaching out his hands to take the ends of the cloth ties from Kyle. 

Their fingers brushed in the movement and an electrifying spark radiated through John’s skin. The temptation to snatch his hand away was strong, but he steadied himself and pushed through the uncomfortable sensation. He felt heat rising in his cheeks, but ignored the reaction and began to unknot the bandages. So Kyle wasn’t completely unfortunate looking underneath the layers of bulky black clothing and weaponry. It didn’t mean anything, Kyle was his roommate. End of story. But as John untied the white strips from around Kyle’s shoulder, he couldn’t help but remember the night in Steamworks and  _ wonder _ .

His traitorous thoughts died as soon as the wound beneath the bandages came into full view. 

“Good god, Kyle.”

Kyle twisted his neck awkwardly to look at his shoulder. The skin stretching from his collarbone to his shoulder blade had turned a red so dark it was starting to look purple. The wound itself was concentrated on the back of Kyle’s right shoulder, almost his neck. The flesh was torn into jagged ribbons that were slowly leaking blood down his back. 

“It looks worse than it feels,” Kyle said, flushing and turning to look at John.

“Kyle, I may not be able to do anything about this. You need a hospital,” John said, voice hard and brow furrowed. He bent over Kyle’s body, careful not to disturb the ravaged skin and took in the wound again. “This probably needs stitches at least. It almost looks like...teeth marks.”

Kyle sighed, looking back over his shoulder again. He studied the wound thoughtfully. “The curse is receding. That’s why it looks so swollen. I don’t think it needs stitches.” He turned back again, and John noticed a glassy sheen to his eyes. “Oh,” he added, as an afterthought, “it  _ was _ teeth.”

John shot him a disbelieving glance as he reached into the first-aid kit for the saline wound wash bottle. “A witch gnawed this wound into your shoulder?”

“She attacked me. She was wearing a dog skin, so it makes sense.”

John rolled his eyes at the absurdity of  _ she was wearing a dog skin _ and uncapped the bottle as he returned to Kyle’s side. “This shouldn’t sting, but it will probably feel uncomfortable.”

He poured the wash over the injury, watching the blood swirl in pink rivulets down Kyle’s muscular back as it mixed with the saline solution. The liquid pooled in the bottom of the tub before snaking toward the drain. To his credit, Kyle didn’t even wince at the pull of the wash on the deep ruts cutting through his flesh. John used the entire bottle before he felt satisfied. 

“This next bit may actually hurt,” he warned, heading toward the kit for gauze pads.

“You’re good at this,” Kyle remarked softly, eyes tracking John as he crossed the room. 

“I’m in rough country alone for extended periods of time. I have a kit in my car and one in the pack I left with Laurie and Bill, too. I take this stuff seriously. You never know what can happen,” John said with a shrug.

Kyle smiled like he had just been reminded of a fond memory. “Well,” he said, “I’m glad to have your help then.”

John nodded, ignoring the prick of sensation in his chest. “You’re welcome.”

He brought a second bottle of wash over with the gauze and began the process of deep cleaning the furrows in the wound. Kyle winced at the more invasive contact, so John softened his dabs until they were feather light. He knew it would still probably cause pain. If the wounds  _ had been  _ created by some dog witch,  _ as impossible as that seemed _ , John knew he had to clean the gouges out as well as he could.

“Sorry,” he said as he worked.

In order to clean the injury, John needed to curl himself over Kyle’s body to get at his back. It was awkward and felt too close. He pretended not to notice Kyle’s scent or the way the taut body beneath him trembled with every touch of the soaked gauze. 

“Almost done,” he promised, voice low and hushed. Soothing.

“It’s ok.” Kyle’s voice came out slightly strained. “You’re surprisingly gentle.”

John flushed, but didn’t comment. 

Finally, he felt satisfied that Kyle wouldn’t die of infection and threw the bloodied collection of gauze he held into the trash bin by the toilet. There was still some wash left in the bottle on the counter and he packed it away in the kit. He took out a roll of fresh bandages and triple antibiotic ointment. When he returned to Kyle, John tried to think about everything in a clinical manner, but this night felt strange to him. The entire  _ day  _ had felt different. From the time he had opened that letter this morning and found the key...to the diner with Kyle and Bill and Laurie...to the mountain and the stones...now this…

Something had changed. Shifted between them. 

John watched Kyle’s earnest expressions and open face and couldn’t help the thought that slipped into his mind,  _ What if he’s not lying about the stones? His injury?  _ It all sounded crazy, but what other explanation was he ready to accept? 

For now, he applied the ointment, bandaged Kyle’s shoulder, and tried not to think about anything at all. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to those of you who have commented and shown us love on this project! We are so thrilled that you're enjoying it! Thanks, too, for the reviews. They rock our world. Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated. Happy reading! :D (Also, you can find us both on Tumblr in various places, but our Rifter-related Tumblr blogs are: Florian: @notesfromnayeshi and Sammybunny: @palaceoftheday. Come nerd out with us!)

Kahlil moved gingerly down the hall from the bathroom. The door to his bedroom appeared as though it were receding from him out of spite. He steadied himself with his left hand, bracing it against the wall and taking slow, careful steps. 

The curse was gradually being pushed out of his body, but it was fighting for every inch of muscle and skin. In the meantime, it radiated pain and settled fatigue over him like a blanket. He thought of John cleaning out the wound, and of their conversation on the roof. He blushed, remembering how he had come to in John’s arms after passing out. He had not expected the Gray Space to be so resistant, and he wondered if it had been due to the curse in his body or the destruction of the Great Gate. He had become so adept at entering the Gray Space since he’d come to Nayeshi. There seemed to always be good reasons to duck away and hide, but he was sure that he hadn’t felt that kind of obstruction in years. He winced. He had wanted to show John something that would eliminate his doubts, something that would push the skepticism from his mind.

Kahlil reached his own doorway and paused, his hand hovering over the knob. He knew Rousma would approve. He had done what she wanted and told John the truth. But right now, the idea of explaining it all, of describing how he had fiddled with the key and the yasi’halaun as he comtemplated murdering his roommate, and of admitting to her how his thoughts had finally coalesced as the brilliant Nayeshi sunset had deepened, all just seemed too overwhelming.

He had to go in though, so he drew in a breath and turned the knob. The room had darkened, lit only by the dim light of a nearby street lamp shining through the window and the brightness of the moon. As his eyes adjusted, he could make out his sister asleep at the end of the army cot. He reset the locks on his door, then kicked his shoes off and unbuckled his belt, sliding it from the loops around his pants. Carefully, he placed the yasi’halaun onto his chair, grateful that John hadn’t felt it in his pocket through the thick fabric of his sweatshirt when he’d helped him down the roof ladder.

Rousma stirred at the noise, despite his attempts to stay quiet. She glanced at him and then yawned deeply and returned her head to where it had rested on her paws. Kahlil smiled. It had been a very long time since she had seemed so content. He padded across room in his bare feet and carefully lowered himself to the cot, sliding his legs under the blanket and sighing in pleasure at the warmth that Rousma’s sleeping body had given to the bed. He lay back onto his pillow, tensing up some when his shoulder took too much of his weight. He shifted and relaxed, glancing down at where his sister still slept.

He let his thoughts drift away from knives and keys and gateways. He thought about how he would take Rousma to the park the next day, and how they might try ice cream together. Then his mind drifted further, to John and their rooftop conversation. John’s eyes had looked dark in the twilight, but his hair had caught the diffuse light from the street lamps and seemed even brighter than usual. Kahlil remembered the way John’s hand had felt as it braced against his shoulder while he cleaned his wound. 

For as long as he could remember, Kahlil knew what would be asked of him. He knew that he would travel through the gateway, reach the Palace of the Day in the Kingdom of the Night and find the Rifter. He knew, with deep certainty, that when word from the Black Tower came he would either bring the Rifter to Basawar to be unleashed or kill him and save his own world from destruction.

He had known these things, or thought he’d known them, as well as he’d known anything. If he’d ever felt doubt, he’d let it burn away in the fire of his conviction that he was blessed by Parfir. Each time he moved through Gray Space was all it took to remind him. How could John throw his mind into such chaos? 

The problem was that John was so kind, and kind to him. He thought of John’s guilty expression when he handed Kahlil the key and the letter, and smiled. John was so honest and principled. There was a part of him that could admit that he didn’t want to hurt John, that he, in fact, wanted more time here with him. Just when everything had seemed to settle in the right place, living as John’s roommate with Rousma finally safe and free, the letter had come to blow it all to dust.

John hadn’t believed the things Kahlil had told him about the Great Gate. Kahlil could still carry out his duty and protect Basawar. Anything he had told John could be silenced forever within Gray Space. Kahlil glanced at the creased paper of the letter, still lying on the floor where he had left it after showing it to Rousma. Each passing hour he spent with the letter and the key in his possession left him feeling less and less urgency to do anything at all. The Payshmura had sealed the Great Gate. They destroyed the passage and there was no way the Rifter would be able to get through. Kahlil could still watch over John. He could make sure that nothing changed, and that he never tried to reach Basawar. Why would he want to? Kahlil had told John the truth. Once he convinced him, John would certainly see why it was better for him to stay in Nayeshi and never go near the stones of the Great Gate.

Kahlil began to drift off to sleep with thoughts playing out in his head of how to convince John that he was telling the truth.

 

***

 

The weak morning light streamed into his bedroom through the tall Victorian windows. It washed everything with a gauzy glow, but it wasn’t what woke Kahlil. The feeling of wet dog nose snuffling in his ear did that, and his eyes shot open in surprise before he remembered everything that had happened the previous day. 

He groaned and pushed himself up, gritting his teeth at the pain that flared in his shoulder. He ran his hand across his face, rubbing at his eyes to try to clear some of the bleariness. Yawning, he looked over to where Rousma sat on the floor next to his cot.

“You is waking up. Good,” Rousma said when he looked her way. “You was makin’ promises to take me outside. I wants to go now. Sun is all ups and smiling.”

Kahlil reached out with his left hand and ruffled her ears. “You’ve been very patient,” he said with a grin.

“I is patient,” Rousma agreed, tail thumping on the floor. “But not for always. Time to go. I wants to sniff new things.”

Kalil laughed and dragged himself to his feet, crossing to the window that faced the alley to look down onto the street. John’s Jeep was already gone. He must have left early to pick up his friends. Kahlil wondered what John thought about everything that had happened. Had it been just yesterday morning that he’d convinced John to take him to breakfast, that he’d been nothing more than John’s knife-wielding freak roommate? Yesterday, Kahlil had been doing his duty and waiting. He glanced at Rousma, and amended his thought. Perhaps he had abandoned his duty long ago without even realizing it. It hadn’t been until it was put to the test that he’d known for sure. He continued putting the people he cared about above his orders, and when they conflicted he had chosen to save Rousma. He had chosen to stay with John. 

“Come on, little sister.” Kahlil grabbed his jacket and slipped it on, hoping the bloodstains against the dark gray fabric would not be too noticeable. Rousma sat at his feet, tail wagging happily as he fiddled with the complicated locks on the door. Finally released, she slipped through the door and bounded down the hallway and staircase to the first floor. Kahlil followed more slowly. His shoulder felt better than last night, but he didn’t want to risk tearing the scabs.

When they got outside, Rousma stayed close to him while they walked to the park. He had warned her about how to be a dog in Nayeshi, and in particular about the dangers of cars. It seemed his admonitions had struck a chord, because even though Kalil could tell she was straining to run after each new smell and sudden movement, she stayed near him on their walk.

There weren’t many people at the park when they arrived. Kahlil crossed to a picnic table that sat in the shade of a huge oak tree. “Come here first,” he said quietly to Rousma. She trotted over to him and sat next to the table.

“Thems birdies smell so sweet and juicy. This place full of little tasties,” Rousma said. Kahlil smiled at her.

“Don’t speak too loudly, ok? They don’t have witches or talking dogs here. You’ll probably give someone a heart attack.” He reached out to her neck and brushed away most of the dried blood that had remained flaked in her fur.

“Thems witches are here, but they blood never been spilt in sacrifice. Thems witches don’t see they own reflections in a mirror.”

“Uh huh,” Kahlil said absently, smoothing back her fur where he had ruffled it. “Well, as long as you don’t scare anyone. Otherwise, I’ll be right here whenever you’re ready to go.”

Rousma grinned and bounded over to where the treeline grew thicker. He could see her walking, nose to the ground, along the hiking path into the woods.

Kahlil stayed at the picnic table. Despite the improvement in his shoulder, the walk to the park had still tired him more than it should have. He was content to sit in the dappled sunlight that filtered through the tree and watch his sister explore her new surroundings. They could really do this. They could stay here in Nayeshi and enjoy the richness of this world, eat at diners, pay bills, and watch baseball games. There could be a life here for them, and he could stay close to John. The bond that drew them together meant that he would never feel right about leaving John. He wondered how that would go over when his roommate finished graduate school and decided to move somewhere else.  _ John, I know I’m just your roommate, but I was thinking about moving across the country with you. _ Kahlil smiled, imagining the conversation. 

How many times had he awoken from nightmares with the warm feeling of blood still haunting him? He had dreamed about sliding his knife along the smooth skin of John’s chest, watching the sacred liquid well up and run down in rivulets. _ The rivers are your blood.  _ Kahlil shivered as the prayer echoed through his memory. He had killed John dozens of times in dreams. Killed him or, worse, seen the look of fear and pain in his eyes when Kahlil turned him over to the Payshmura and helped to unleashed his power over Basawar and the Fai’daum rebels. Kahlil rubbed his eyes, trying to clear the vision. He would never have to bring John to Basawar, never have to hurt him until his pain rained destruction down from the top of the Black Tower.

It was nearly as heady a feeling as breathing the oxygen-rich Nayeshi air. It struck Kahlil suddenly, and made him reel with the intensity. Everything he had trained his whole life to do had been flipped on its head. He would never kill John, never return to Basawar, never defeat the Fai’daum. But John was still the Rifter, the embodiment of the divine. Kahlil may have disobeyed the orders of the Usho’shokri, but the prayers he has said his whole life had been to Parfir. How could protecting John ever betray his god? Could the priests be wrong? Could their orders to kill The Rifter ever go against the will of Parfir? Kahlil had never let himself go down this path before. He had known that it would be dangerous. He knew all too well how pernicious thoughts could flow through the blood and corrupt even the holiest bones. 

Despite that, everything the Payshmura taught him said that Parfir was incorruptible, divine perfection. If that was true, then protecting John and allowing his sacred body to survive was his duty regardless of any orders that the priests may send. Kahlil thought of John and how wrong it had felt last night on the roof to finger the yasi’halaun in his pocket. John had looked at him with such clear focus and intensity. Kahlil loved the way just being near John put his mind in order, as though John’s calm, organized attitude were contagious. There was no denying that protecting John felt right, much more so than the nightmare of killing him.

For an irrational moment, Kahlil thought that perhaps just remembering the nightmares had caused them to return. A sudden, unbearable pain flared in his arm and up to his chest along the scar where the bond had been forged. This wasn’t a nightmare though. This pain was as real as the moment the bond was formed, and Kahlil knew what it meant. John was hurt. Judging by the tugging pain along the bond, Kahlil guessed that he was hurt badly. He snapped his head up to look for Rousma and spotted her crouching in the tree line watching a bird hop along the grass. He could carry her through Gray Space, but it would slow down him considerably. She was smart, and perceptive. She would wait for him here if he asked her to. He whistled and she looked up at him, her ears pricked forward. 

Cutting open a tiny slice of Gray Space, he whispered into it, just as they had done as children. “John may be in trouble. I have to go.” He saw Rousma sit down even as she kept her eyes on him and he knew she understood. He nodded, then without waiting any longer he slipped into Gray Space entirely and let the bond guide him to John.

 

***

 

The jostling of his Jeep kept John alert and mostly attentive to the road as he drove up the mountain. Despite his attempts to remain mindful of the present, his thoughts drifted constantly to the night before. He couldn’t get Kyle’s injury out of his head; couldn’t get Kyle’s  _ words  _ out of his head. Talk of witches and portals bounced around his mind as his body swayed with the rough trail he drove on. Before he’d left that morning, he had intended to check on Kyle to make sure his wound hadn’t worsened overnight, but the door to his roommate’s room was shut up tight and locked, as usual. John had yet to see hide or hair of the dog Kyle claimed to have brought into their house. It must be staying in Kyle’s room, too.

Thinking of the dog shifted John’s mental track to Kyle’s insistence that a  _ dog witch _ had torn into his shoulder. Well, whatever had done it had certainly done a good job of wrecking his skin. Kyle would no doubt have a permanent scar to add to his copious collection. The only other explanation John could consider was some sort of fight with a forest beast or something. 

A bump in the road sent tremors throughout the old chassis of his Jeep, bringing his mind back to the here and now and John tightened his grip on the steering wheel. This focus and concentration lasted for approximately two minutes before he let himself drift into the problem of the stones--the  _ broken gateway _ , as Kyle claimed. They couldn’t really be pieces of some great portal to another world--but what  _ were  _ they, really? Where had they come from? Their existence was maddening. As if summoned by the direction of his thoughts, the first broken bits of marble popped up in the dirt path ahead of him. John slowed his speed and adjusted the Jeep’s gears as he navigated the stretch of road made treacherous by the yellow stones’ presence. 

He stopped the Jeep by one of the largest of the jutting rocks and switched off the ignition. As soon as he opened the door, he could hear the echoes of Laurie and Bill’s conversation up ahead. Nothing so clear as concrete words, just snippets of laughter and the general tones of voice that indicated his friends were having a good time. That calmed John a bit. If Laurie and Bill were doing well, it somehow eased the turmoil inside his own mind. 

As he made his way up the path toward the area where he’d left them the night before, John put as much space between his body and the stones as he could. He didn’t want to chance touching them and feeling again that sickening nausea. As he neared the makeshift campsite, John inhaled the cool mountain air and felt the ground rise solidly to meet him. Despite the stones’ presence, he felt better out here than he did inside the house right now.

The air felt rich with moisture, caressing his face in a light breeze that left him refreshed and focused. Dirt and moss and ferns almost seemed to part for him as he hiked up the incline to the nest of rocks Laurie and Bill had chosen last night for their camp.

“Who goes there?!” Bill’s voice cut through the placid morning. 

“Toffee?” Laurie added, voice barely tinged in concern.

“Yeah, it’s me,” John called back.

They came into view, both wearing the same clothes they’d worn the day before and looking considerably rumpled and sleepy. Bill stood by a clumsily thrown together fire that might have set the entire forest ablaze were it not for the general wetness that clung to everything in the vicinity. No rocks hemmed it in, nor was there a depressed bowl for the kindling. John shook his head, but didn’t comment. Bill wasn’t a proud man, but John didn’t feel like throwing around his superior outdoor knowledge at the moment.

“Hey, buddy,” Laurie beamed.

He edged between two of the marble boulders and entered their shared space, sitting on a fallen log that Laurie occupied. Moisture bled through his jeans, but he ignored the discomfort and stared at the mesmerizing tendrils of fire that flickered and licked into the air. 

“Sooooo?” Bill prompted. “How was the John-Kyle love fest last night? Did you...you know--”

“No, I don’t know, Bill,” John remarked, dryly.

Laurie laughed, her voice ringing like bells in his ear. John couldn’t help but crack a smile. “Come on, Toffee. You have to put us out of our misery. Did you at least kiss him? I mean, the two of you in that old house by yourselves...anything could happen, right?”

John rolled his eyes. “Nothing happened. We went home, talked some, and went to bed.  _ Separately. _ ”

Well, he had left out the whole bathroom-turned-health-clinic bit, but they didn’t need to know that. John wasn’t sure he wanted to tell them  _ anything _ about what he and Kyle had discussed. He eyed them both, pondering what he expected them to say if he told them the truth. Laurie and Bill seemed to operate on a whole other level of understanding about the universe. If John told them about portals and dog witches, they’d probably take it in stride and nod--as if those sorts of anomalies popped up every day. 

Bill left the fire to join them on the log. John noticed for the first time that the tent from his pack wasn’t up. Instead, his single sleeping bag lay unzipped on the other side of the fire, damp with morning dew. 

“No tent?” he arched a brow.

“No way was I trying to put that thing together and destroying it and having you on my ass about it,” Bill quipped. As if realizing his phrasing, Bill flushed, “You know...you on my ass isn’t exactly my thing.”

John sighed at Bill’s immature innuendo and glanced at Laurie. 

“It was too beautiful a night to deal with the tent,” she shrugged.

He laughed for the first time in what felt like ages. It was nice. It released some of the coiled tension in his chest. He leaned back, bracing his palms behind him on the log, and stared up into the jewel-blue sky. 

“So? Details, details. What did you guys talk about? You had like, hours of quality alone time, man!” Bill bumped his arm with an elbow.

“Why are you two so interested in what I talked about with my  _ roommate _ ? We’re not together!” John heaved an exasperated sigh.

“But you  _ could _ be if you weren’t so stubborn,” Laurie pointed out, flicking a finger up.

“I like him,” Bill put in. “He’s mysterious and weird, but also pretty nice.”

_ Mysterious and weird, for sure. _

John stood up and side-stepped the sorry excuse for a fire to the sleeping bag. He zipped it up and rolled it into a neatly packed ball. It gave him something to do with his hands while he considered whether or not he would actually talk about last night with them. After packing it back into his backpack, he stood up and looked around, finding nothing else to tidy up.

“Did you guys survive off of Bill’s candy last night?” John put his hands on his hips.

“Yep, candy and water--the sustenance of champions,” Bill said, patting his belly theatrically.

“The water bottles are in the front pocket of the pack,” Laurie said, waving a hand. 

John nodded and set about putting out the fire. 

“I take it that’s our cue to get ready to leave?” Bill said.

Laurie stood up and stretched, “John is impatient to get back to Kyle.”

He ignored the persistent needling and unzipped his front pack pocket to retrieve the water bottles. He poured them over the pathetic fire, relishing the sharp hiss of the flames dying out.

“I need more water, I’ll be right back,” he said, heading to the back of his Jeep to retrieve one of the gallons he kept there.

Once he’d returned and poured it over the fire, he knelt down and put a hand to the bottom-most tangle of wood. The charred surfaces were cool to the touch. Part of him wanted to bury his fingers in the wet ash and let it sift around his skin, but he didn’t indulge himself. Instead, he stood up, shouldered his pack and stared expectantly at Laurie and Bill. 

“Off to the Jeep, then,” Laurie said, pointing a thin arm in the general direction of the parked SUV.

After John unlocked it and stowed his pack in the back, they all piled in. Bill and Laurie sat in the back together, leaving him alone up front. It brought a smile to his lips to imagine himself as their chauffeur. How different would this car ride be to the one he’d shared yesterday with Kyle? John started the engine and carefully turned the Jeep around to begin their descent. 

They hadn’t been driving more than five minutes when Laurie launched an interrogation. “So? Anymore thoughts on those yellow stones?”

John gripped the wheel and frowned. After warring with himself for several seconds, he said, “Kyle thinks they’re a portal to another world.”

In the rearview mirror, John saw the two of them lock eyes for a moment. 

“To be honest, I wondered about that sort of thing, you know?” Laurie said. “I wondered if these stones were like Stonehenge or something--an otherworldly place.”

An ancient ring of stones. John shook his head. That didn’t exactly translate here. These stones popped up out of nowhere and weren’t arranged in a neat, man-made structure. These stones were untamed and wild against the familiar landscape. He opened his mouth to reply, but Bill beat him to it.

“Maybe they are some sort of portal. But why weren’t we all transported to some alien world or something? We spent all night there,” he pointed out.

“I don’t know,” John admitted. 

But then he remembered the keyhole he’d seen beneath Kyle’s finger. It had perfectly matched that key from the envelope. John still felt convinced that it would have slid into that lock without difficulty--that it would have turned smoothly and opened whatever secrets the stones hid from their eyes. It was preposterous, but perhaps Kyle was right. Maybe there  _ was  _ a whole world on the other side of that lock. Maybe the stones _ were _ a portal. He scowled. 

“What, Toffee?” Laurie leaned between his seats and stared at him. 

“Put your seatbelt on,” he chastised.

She leaned back into her seat. “You okay?”

“Just...they can’t be a portal. It’s impossible,” he hissed.

Bill sighed and propped his feet up on the console between John’s seat and the front passenger seat. “John, you’ve gotta let go of all this ‘impossible’ talk. I know you’re a scientist and everything, but even you have to admit there’s a whole lot about the universe that you don’t know.”

Bill was rarely eloquent, but John had to admit his friend had a point. 

He decided to tell the rest of what Kyle had said to him. “Kyle says our world is called ‘Nayeshi’ and the world he comes from is ‘Basawar’. He claims that he grew up in Basawar and came to this world ten years ago.”

“I  _ knew  _ that guy was an alien!” Bill said with a snap of his fingers.

Laurie chuckled. “It would certainly explain those weird tattoos.”

“How? How would it explain those tattoos?!” John felt frantic now. “He could have gotten those at any tattoo parlor at a strip mall! He’s probably just got some sort of delusion going on.”

“John, the man I met yesterday didn’t seem delusional. He seemed...sweet,” Laurie concluded.

“Yeah, John. Sweet,” Bill added.

John groaned. 

Talk ceased when a particularly loud tremor rocked through the Jeep. John knew he needed to pay better attention to the steep trail they were on. Runoff from the mountains had slicked the muddy path and jutting rocks in the middle of the road were harder to see with their coating of dirt and silt. He put the Jeep into a lower gear and tried to slow down the sharp incline. But as he pushed his foot against the break pedal, he knew immediately that something was wrong. The pedal moved straight to the floor with no resistance at all. 

John’s belly fell like a stone. 

“No,” he breathed.

“Uh...John, buddy? Aren’t we going a little fast?” Bill piped up from the back.

“Yeah,” Laurie laughed nervously. “We could slow down a little and I’d be just fine with that.”

Cold sweat broke out on John’s neck and he tried the pedal again to the same effect. “The breaks are out,” he said, still disbelieving.

“They’re what?” Laurie’s voice ran cold. 

“Buckle up!” John called back, knowing that neither of his friends had listened to him earlier.

He heard the clicking of the safety belts and it gave him some comfort. But the entire time, the Jeep had been gaining speed down the incline and John knew this wouldn’t end well. A sharp bend in the trail lay up ahead, tall firs and pines hemming it in on both sides. They’d most likely go up on two wheels trying to make that at this speed. John gripped the wheel hard. They didn’t have a lot of options. The trail fell away into tree-covered ravines on either side. He’d just have to try to make the curve.

They came up to the bend within another minute and John yelled, “Hang on to something!”

He turned the wheel slowly enough that he wouldn’t jerk the tires, but quickly enough that they wouldn’t ram into the stand of trees in front of them.

It didn’t matter. 

John braced himself as the Jeep slid on the muddied track up onto two wheels and slammed hard into the treeline. Everything after that seemed to go in slow motion. Laurie screamed with the impact of the Jeep hitting the anchored tree trunks. Glass exploded from the driver’s side windows, biting into John’s skin. He cursed, raising his arms too late to shield his face. Pain swelled in his skin, bone deep. His body felt wrong. Like it had been bent the wrong way. Bill was silent. 

The Jeep fell back down off its side with a creaky, metallic shudder. John’s body ached with the ricochet. A pulse rocked through him in time with his stuttering heartbeat. The pain from earlier magnified when he tried to shift in his seat. His left side felt dented, as though it had been hit with a battering ram. He tried again to move, but was trapped by the misshapen chassis of the Jeep and his own safety belt. John groaned as a fresh wave of agony shot through him. 

“Laurie?” He rasped. “Bill?”

The only noises from the backseat were wheezing breath and a pained whine. He had to turn around. He had to make sure they were alright. 

The sharp tang of blood peppered the air and John’s skin chilled. Moisture leaked into the car from the busted windows. Outside, birds chittered and sang to one another. The peaceful sounds all around them seemed at odds with what had just happened. John tried to move again and a pang of white-hot agony rippled through him. Instinctively, he looked down to his left side. His lips parted at the sight of the blood soaking through his clothes and the long gash snaking down from just beneath his pectoral muscle to his hip, glistening beneath a torn shirt. He followed the grisly trail, trying to make sense of it. Then he blearily took in the way the car door had been forced inward and the shiny gleam of bent and broken metal. It must have carved into his flesh upon impact.

“John?” The soft voice broke through his self-inspection and he stilled. 

“Laurie?”

“I think Bill fainted,” she said, wobbling through the words.

“Are you okay?” He winced when he tried to turn his head back. Apparently even that paltry movement pulled at the injury to his side.

“I don’t know…”

John tried to think through the blood loss. Help. They had to call for help. His right hand shook as he moved it toward the glove compartment where he kept his cell phone. He cried out when the motion pulled at his side. His hand fell, fingers barely brushing the compartment. 

“John! Are you alright?” Laurie shrieked.

He tried to reach out again, angling his body as best he could to give him better access, but it didn’t matter. The pain blistered through him and he had to stop before he blacked out. 

“I can’t reach it,” he whimpered.

Black spots swam in front of his eyes and he blinked, trying to clear his vision. Blood oozed from his wound when he resituated himself in the seat. The pulse he’d felt earlier returned. It warmed through him, bringing with it a strange sense of calm. All sound drained away and the sensations in his body faded. His vision narrowed to a single point beyond the broken windshield--out past the crumpled hood of the Jeep. 

A strange hiss cut through the quiet and John saw a flicker of dark matter materialize out of thin air. The hazy shape looked vaguely human and grew clearer as it came closer. Hope flared in John’s chest. 

Someone walked toward them, then started running. “John!”

A face came into view. A familiar, impossible face. 

“Kyle?” John whispered.

Then the world slid sideways and John slumped into darkness.

 


	4. Chapter 4

The bond brought Kahlil close to John. It was like having a magnet that constantly pulled at him. Most days the feeling was pleasant, but Kahlil was alarmed now by the pain that seemed to flow into him from the connection. He came out of the Gray Space miles up the mountain, still far away from the city. At first glance everything about the bright, sunny hillside seemed normal. He looked around, momentarily disoriented when he didn’t see John or his Jeep. He noticed the ruts left by tires after a moment, and his eyes tracked them to where they led; the Jeep had slid off the road and rested against a stand of pine trees partway down the embankment. Kahlil ran toward it, spotting the bright streak of John’s hair against the dark fabric of the driver’s seat even from up the hill.

“John!” he called as he sprinted over. His eyes were drawn to the destroyed metal of the Jeep body and the broken glass and plastic that littered the ground. “Shit,” he breathed, stepping carefully over rocks and tree roots and sliding on the loose rubble that had been kicked up by the accident. Moving carefully around the front of the vehicle, he caught a glimpse of Bill’s pale face. He didn’t appear to be conscious, and neither did John.

Kahlil reached the passenger door and wrenched it open. The seats inside the car were littered with more bits of glass and pine needles. The smell of blood was unmistakable. “John?” Kahlil prompted, and was surprised at how thin and quavery his own voice sounded. John didn’t respond, but Kahlil heard a shuffle from the back seat.

“Kyle?” he heard Laurie’s voice ask. “Oh my god, how did you find us?”

Kahlil could only see Laurie’s shoulder behind the driver’s seat so he shifted further into the car. From the adjusted angle, he saw that she was sitting awkwardly against the backseat. Her leg seemed to be caught in a twist of metal from where the door had buckled inward. She had her hands clamped around her knee, bracing herself, and her face was tight and drawn.

“I was on my way up to meet you. I hitched a ride from the last ranger station.” Kahlil lied out of habit. It was nearly second nature. Laurie didn’t seem to even be listening anymore, though. She was looking past Kahlil to the dashboard of the Jeep.

“There’s a phone in the glove box,” she said, her voice tight. “I think John keeps it there for emergencies.”

Kahlil flipped around in the seat and popped open the small compartment. He fished past a few old registration cards and fast food napkins to find a small black cell phone folded into a leather case. He pulled it out and flipped it open, but when he punched the numbers in nothing happened. “I’m not sure it’s working,” Kahlil said. “Maybe a dead battery?”

“It’s probably turned off,” Laurie bit out. “Give it to me.” Kahlil handed the phone back to her. Her hands shook when she reached for it. With practiced ease, she held the power button for a few seconds until the display lit up. 

“Let me guess,” she said, her eyes never leaving the screen. “No cell phones in Basawar.”

Kahlil gaped at her for a brief moment, the sudden shock of hearing the word come out of her mouth sending ice through his veins. An irrational confusion swept him; was Laurie from Basawar? Had she been sent by the Holy Sisters to bring him back? He came to his senses quickly. Of course, John must have told his friends about their conversation on the roof last night. The fear that had swept him faded, but it left him grounded in its wake. John.

He turned in the seat, crunching glass under him as he maneuvered into a kneeling position to face the driver’s side. John was sprawled against the seat, his head lolling to the side and his blond curls obscuring half his face. Kahlil reached toward him and placed his hand gently against John’s top lip. He nearly sobbed in relief when he felt the tickle of breath against his fingers.

“John,” he said again. “Wake up.”

Kahlil looked around. He needed to see what injuries John might have, but the entire driver’s side of the Jeep was pinned against a row of pine trunks. He could hear Laurie in the back seat, her strained voice sounding far away as she spoke into the cell phone. The sky outside was beginning to darken as a mass of storm clouds rolled in. Kahlil felt the wind kicking up through the broken out windows. Laurie was describing their location to someone on the other end of the phone line and glancing nervously across at Bill.

Taking advantage of her distraction, Kahlil split open the Gray Space and slipped out of the Jeep to the driver’s side. He came out next to the pine tree that was blocking John’s door. It looked like there was some clearance, but not enough to pull John out. If he could open it even a little further he could at least see John’s left side and hopefully get a better idea of the injuries. He raised the fingers of his left hand and split them apart, opening an Unseen Edge that he used to slice into the soft pine bark.

He cut into the tree, shaving nearly six inches off the near side of the massive trunk. He tried not to go too deep; the last thing he wanted was for a tree to fall on top of the vehicle. As he worked, the first drops of rain began to fall, splashing against the metal of the Jeep with little smacks. Kahlil ignored the rain, even as it began to soak his hair and the shoulders of his sweatshirt. He continued to carefully cut away shreds of the pine. With the extra space, he wiggled the driver’s door latch and slowly eased the door outward. It had been dented by the tree, but it still moved on the hinge. When he could see into the space, Kahlil finally knew where the smell of blood had been coming from. The clothing on John’s entire left side was darkened with blood and it was still running down his shirt sleeve and dripping onto the floor of the Jeep.

“Shit,” Kahlil murmured. “Oh, John.” He ran his hands along John’s arm, leg, and ribs, prodding carefully to feel for broken bones. He didn’t feel any, but his hands came away sticky and red. He needed to stem the blood loss, especially if help wasn’t anywhere nearby. The amount of blood that John had already lost was significant, and he was still bleeding. 

Kahlil reached for one of the shredded holes that had been torn in John’s t-shirt and ripped it open further. He kept tearing until he could peel the shirt back and most of John’s torso was exposed. A long abrasion started from below the waistband of John’s pants and continued, deepening, up his left side to the top of his ribs. Blood was still welling from the areas where pieces of the smashed door had penetrated John’s skin. Kahlil quickly unzipped his own sweatshirt and let it drop to the ground. The bandage on his right shoulder wouldn’t interfere with the healing. He had seen the ushman in the infirmary do this a hundred times. Even though he had never performed the ritual, he knew all the words and he knew how to channel his energy. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath, steeling himself. Reaching toward John, he laid his left hand gently against the deepest part of the laceration. He crossed his right arm around own his chest and rested it on his left side. In a quiet whisper, he began to chant.

Kahlil could feel the blood leaving him. It cut deep, dry furrows into the skin of his chest. The pain blossomed, and he forced himself to stay upright, to not curl forward around the wound. He thought he could feel John’s pulse strengthen under his hand. He felt him draw in a deep, gasping breath and the surprise of it nearly shocked Kahlil out of his prayer. He had borne wounds for ushiri in the past, but it felt different with John. The power that he gave cycled back through the bond and left him feeling much less drained than he expected. He stopped when his vision started to spot at the edges. The blood flow from the deepest of John’s wounds seemed to have slowed some. Kahlil blinked in surprise. Bearing John’s wounds hadn’t felt much different from bearing the shallow scratches that the Gray Space left on young trainees.

Kahlil reached for John’s hand, groping along his wrist to feel his pulse beating strong and fast. A groan whispered from John’s lips. Kahlil’s eyes snapped up to John’s face. Weak blue eyes stared at him, dazed.

“Kyle?”

“John,” Kahlil whispered, leaning closer. “You’re awake.” The rain was falling in earnest now, rivulets of water running off of Kahlil’s hair and into his eyes. A sudden flash of lightning burst across the sky.

“What are you doing here?” John asked, his words slurred and slow.

Kahlil smiled at the sound of John’s voice, basking in the familiarity of John and his unending desire to understand things. “I had a feeling you were in trouble, so I came to help. Don’t try to move or anything, I think Laurie called for emergency services.”

“Laurie…” John’s brows furrowed. “Laurie! Bill!” John turned in his seat, away from Kahlil, and looked into the backseat.

“I’m here, John,” Laurie’s slim hand slid up between the driver’s seat and the door frame to grasp John’s shoulder. Kahlil could see her face through the gap, her eyebrows drawn together in pain. “I think Bill’s waking up. Oh, and the rangers are on their way. They shouldn’t be long.”

Kahlil leaned around the door frame to look at Bill’s form. He had slumped forward in his seat, his head cradled in his hands and his black hair obscuring his face. “Is there anything I can do to help you while we wait?” Kahlil asked Laurie, feeling suddenly guilty about how little attention he had paid to the couple in the backseat while John was in danger.

“I wish I had some water,” Laurie admitted, “but I don’t know if there’s any left.”

John raised a shaky hand, pointing through the seats toward the tail end of the Jeep. “There’re some more bottles in the back.”

Kahlil’s gaze followed to where John had indicated. He looked back at John for a moment, reluctant to go any further from him. “Don’t move,” he warned. The rear door of the vehicle seemed clear, so he walked carefully between the pine trunks, watching for rock slides as the rain began to loosen the soil. After prying open the bottom hatch of the rear door, Kahlil spotted a stash of three small water bottles caught in a mesh bag hanging from the inside of the trunk. Gathering them, he went back around to the passenger side door and climbed in.

“Oh, thank you,” Laurie groaned when he handed her the first bottle. He passed her back another to give to Bill. Then he turned to John, who was watching him intently. “Water?” he asked, holding the bottle out to him.

John frowned. “How are you  _ here _ ?” His voice sounded stronger now and his eyes had lost some of the haziness.

Kahlil frowned at John, uncertain how much he should try to explain given the already stressful circumstances. “I’m really wishing I hadn’t messed up my demonstration last night,” he muttered. He took a deep breath. “Listen,” he started, “I’ll tell you everything. I said I would. But maybe it should wait until you’re not bleeding out in the middle of a thunderstorm.”

As if just noticing the weather for the first time, John glanced up through the broken driver’s side window and the rain falling in heavier sheets. 

“It was sunny before the accident,” John noted.

Kahlil looked up through the busted windshield. The rain pouring down the broken glass obscured the landscape, making it look as though the sky and trees were melting away. It had been sunny this morning when he’d walked to the park with Rousma, and even just minutes ago when he had arrived on the mountain. He’d heard birds chirping in the otherwise eerie quiet. It hadn’t been until he had begun to wake John up that the clouds had rolled in.

“It was,” he confirmed to John. “I guess it’s just one of those sudden summer storms.” It sounded unconvincing, but Kahlil didn’t want to say more.

John groaned and closed his eyes, leaning his head back on the head rest. It seemed he’d dismissed the topic. “I don’t hurt as much as I did earlier.”

Kahlil glanced at Laurie in the back seat. Her wide, blue eyes were fixed on him. He swallowed, turning back to John. “You were bleeding too much,” he said slowly, picking his words with care. “I was worried about how much blood you’d already lost, and you were still bleeding. There’s something I tried, it’s supposed to lessen the damage from injuries. I guess it worked.” He looked up at John to see his reaction. 

John had the intense look of someone working hard to solve something. He opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by the glint of headlights up the hill and the sounds of men’s voices.

“That’s the ranger!” Laurie cried, her voice cutting through the strained silence that Kahlil’s vague explanation had left in its wake. 

Kahlil turned in time to see a man with a flashlight sprinting through the rain to the Jeep. He saw John from the corner of his eye, still looking at him intently. He turned quickly, before the man could overhear, and grabbed John’s wrist. “I will explain,” he promised. “When we’re home, I’ll tell you everything.”

Suddenly, John flipped his hand and grabbed Kahlil’s wrist in return. “No fainting this time.” He squeezed once, then let go. 

Turning away from John felt impossible, more painful than bearing the wound. He had to though. The ranger would have questions, and Kahlil needed to come up with some explanation for how he came through the accident miraculously unwounded. He took a breath and steeled himself, then pushed open the door of the Jeep to meet their rescue.

 

***

 

John glowered at the empty ledge running the length of the hospital room window. It’s not like he wanted flowers or anything. But somehow, their absence made him think of his parents. Laurie had called them against his wishes to let them know about the accident. She kept in touch with them sometimes and it grated on his frayed nerves considering the fractured relationship he had with them--particularly with his father. A cynical huff of laughter slipped from his lips. So not even John getting busted up in a car accident was enough for them to budge on their brand of morality?

A whisper of fabric shifting pulled him out of his dour thoughts and brought him back into the moment at hand. Kyle sat on his left by the bed, fingering the pages of a twenty year old magazine, looking fascinated as he often did by almost everything--as though ancient fashion and bad hairstyles were the most interesting things in the world. John said nothing. Couldn’t think of anything to say, really. Kyle had appeared out of nowhere up on the mountain and very likely saved his life. The question of how his roommate even knew where exactly they were--let alone how he got there so quickly at just the right time--ate at his insides.

Laurie was in the room next door, her leg broken in several places. Bill had suffered whiplash, but was otherwise unhurt, thankfully. He’d stopped by to see John an hour or so earlier, after the initial flurry of the emergency room intake had been taken care of. Since then, he’d been with Laurie. Kyle had been by John’s side the whole time. 

Memories of the moments on the mountain were washed in a gossamer haze and John tried to remember distinctly the accident and its aftermath. Kyle had shown up and done... _ something _ to help his wound before the ranger came. After that it had been a lot of pain and discomfort as John was gently extricated from his smashed up driver’s side seat and moved up the hill into the ranger’s SUV. Kyle and the ranger had moved Laurie together, Bill trailing after, rubbing his neck and frowning a lot. 

John closed his eyes. The only clear image that surfaced from the ride to the ranger’s station was the way Kyle’s hand rested on the seat between them, fingers flexing softly every now and then. John wasn’t sure why he remembered that out of all the other things. An EMS vehicle had waited for them when they made it to the station and the ride to the hospital was long and uneventful. And yet, Kyle had been with him then, too. Sitting quietly beside him, looking somehow weirdly angelic beneath the harsh interior lighting in the ambulance. 

John snapped back to the moment, realizing he was drifting. Kyle turned a page next to him, drawing his eyes. 

“What are you reading?” John asked.

Kyle looked up, seeming startled to hear John’s voice. When he smiled, the scars that marred his face didn’t seem as pronounced. “It’s called Better Homes and Gardens,” he said, his forehead wrinkling in concern. “Did you know you’re supposed to have an entire bedroom that you keep empty for guests?”

John blinked. “A guest room?”

Kyle nodded, flipping his magazine out to show John a two-page spread of guest room decorating tips. 

An overabundance of peach tones somewhat marred the appeal of the decor in question. John couldn’t help the smirk that lit his lips. “I guess you live in the guest room at our house. Or maybe I do. Either way, we don’t have an extra one for guests available.”

His tongue scraped against his teeth and a general, unpleasant fuzziness clung to the sides of his mouth. He glanced around looking for a pitcher of water. Nothing sat on the bedside table except the remote to the wall-mounted TV and the corded button to call the nurse’s station. Was it worth bothering them for water?

“Looking for something?” Kyle asked.

John muttered, “Water,” and sat up, groaning at the way it pulled the stitches running up the length of his left side. He lifted the covers with his right hand and swung his legs over the edge of his bed. His left hand met resistance when he remembered the IV drip veritably chaining him to his current location. He frowned. Thankfully the bag was connected to a shiny metal stand on rollers. He grasped the cool metal and stood the rest of the way up. 

“Let me get it,” Kyle said, climbing smoothly to his feet. His gray sweatshirt was still damp and covered in mud now as well as the dried blood from last night and his hair hung in damp, wispy strands, but he still moved with a fluid grace. “You shouldn’t be up yet.”

John watched him leave the room and pondered how many steps it would take to get to the door himself. A wave of weariness overtook him and he sat down hard on the bed. Perhaps Kyle was right. The soft plinking of raindrops hitting the window filled up the quiet and John let go of his IV stand in favor of slipping back into bed. It was warm in the room, so he left the covers at the bottom of the bed and curled up on his right side to watch the rain outside the open blinds. The thunder and lightning had stopped at some point and the gentle downpour felt commonplace and soothing.

His eyelids drifted closed. Whatever painkillers they had given him were working well for the most part--the only sensation in his left side a dull ache. He’d almost dozed off and forgotten about the water when he heard the creak of the door and a sharp intake of breath. John peered over his shoulder. Kyle stood there, eyes almost comically wide. A crimson blush stained his pale cheeks. John raised an eyebrow.

“John,” he said softly, eyes drifting to the floor, “aren’t you cold?”

"Not particularly. Why?”

Kyle came toward the bed, setting the plastic cup and pitcher of water on the table close enough for John to reach. His mouth quirked into the ghost of a smile, even as his eyes stayed firmly fixed at his feet.

“You, um,” he started. “That shift they gave you is, um, not fastened entirely.”

John blinked, not following until the draft from the door swinging shut hit the bare skin of his back.  _ Oh.  _ Sudden embarrassment flooded him and John rolled onto his back to hide his semi-nakedness. The movement hurt, but it was better than continuing to make either of them uncomfortable. He shifted up onto the stacked pillows into a sitting position, gritting his teeth against the pain that flared beneath the stitches in his side at the flexing of his abdominal muscles. 

“Sorry,” he muttered.

John’s eyes swiped to the side, taking in Kyle’s flushed cheeks and the way he quickly sat back down and buried his gaze into that dratted magazine. Again, the scene at the bathhouse returned to him and John sighed, leaning his head back into the flat pillows. The last two days had somewhat thawed the awkwardness between them, but a new tentativeness had taken its place. They were both gay, Kyle had confirmed as much last night, and they had seen each other in vulnerable situations--Kyle with his shoulder and now John with his injury. It brought a sort of camaraderie to their situation that John wasn’t prepared for. He felt sure the fact that his ass had just been on display for the world to see didn’t help matters. John quelled the pitiful wonder he felt as to whether or not Kyle might have found him attractive. It didn’t matter. 

_ Did it? _

Kyle didn’t look up from his magazine or move a muscle, but John heard him softly speak. “Don’t be sorry. It’s your room and I made you uncomfortable.” He toyed with the pages of his magazine, rubbing the corners of the glossy pages between his fingers. 

John ran a hand through his wild hair. Bits of broken glass fell out, momentarily distracting him and reminding him he needed to shower when the nurses would let him. Kyle must have noticed the glass, for his eyes flicked up and their gazes met. There was something so disarmingly honest and pure in Kyle’s eyes and it confused John. Everything about this man was so contradictory. He carried around vicious weapons and bore scars from only God knew what that spoke of a life of careless violence and yet in moments like this, John couldn’t help but find Kyle...gentle and innocent. 

“It’s fine,” John said, knowing it was inadequate. Nevertheless, Kyle blushed again and smiled widely this time. Somehow, that smile made John forget all about the scars. 

Grasping the armrests, Kyle slid his chair across the floor and closer to John’s bed.

“You’ve been very forgiving of me lately, John,” he said, his eyes shining mischievously with his smile.

“Have I?” John tried to think through the haze of the painkillers. 

Kyle nodded as his eyes flicked to the ceiling in thought. “Well, you didn’t kick me out when I brought a dog home. Or when I started bleeding all over your roof. And you didn’t get mad at me when I told you… what I told you last night.” Kyle stumbled a little over the mention of their rooftop conversation, but continued. “And you’re not mad at me now. At least I don’t think you are,” he finished triumphantly.

John’s lips edged into a half grin. He couldn’t help it. Kyle looked so earnest and hopeful. He breathed in deeply before saying, “I’m not mad. It’s not your fault the nurses didn’t tie up the back of my hospital gown. As to the rest, I’m definitely confused. I have questions and I’m still expecting you to answer them.”

“I will,” Kyle said, his voice low and forceful. “I’ll answer anything you ask me.” John saw him swallow, his throat working almost reluctantly. “I’ll tell you the truth.”

“Why were you at the bathhouse?” John didn’t know what made him ask so suddenly when there were a million other things he needed clarification on. Perhaps it was the drugs clouding his good judgement, but after the way Kyle had been acting around him, John had to know. “You never actually answered that question when I asked you on the roof.”

Kyle reached up with his left hand and rubbed at the back of his neck, his eyes falling to his lap. He took a deep breath before he started speaking. “I found out about it, and I guess it just stuck in my mind. I told myself I wouldn’t go. And for months I didn’t, but that night I guess I just gave in. It felt…” he sighed and took another breath. “It felt inevitable.”

John could understand that. He wasn’t sure what Kyle’s personal history was with casual or serious relationships, but John knew firsthand what it was like to deny himself basic connections with other men in an effort to create distance and safety. He, too, had waited to go to the bathhouse until he had nearly driven himself crazy with the need for physical contact. How interesting that they both ended up there on the same night. Not for the first time, John wondered if he and Kyle could have crossed some boundary that night if Kyle hadn’t disappeared. 

“You ran away,” John pointed out. “After we saw each other, I mean.”

Kyle brought his hand back from his neck to rub at his eyes. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he said softly. “I was just completely surprised and I panicked, I guess. It was stupid, but I thought it would be anonymous. I mean, I had this idea that it would be okay because no one there would know me. So, when I noticed that it was you it threw me off.” He shook his head, left hand still rubbing absently at his temple. “I’m sorry,” he finished.

“I had just never suspected…”John began. Not sure how to finish. Then said, “I’m glad it happened, I think. We didn’t really know anything about each other before that moment. Now we have something in common.”

A small smile returned to Kyle’s face. “We have a lot of things in common, I think.”

“Oh? Like what?” John arched a brow.

The blush on Kyle’s cheeks deepened, but he held John’s gaze. “Well, we share the coffee pot,” he said, the twitch at the corner of his lips barely giving away his mock solemnity.

“We do,” John agreed. “And?” Was he flirting? This felt like flirting somehow. With Kyle. Weird.

Kyle smiled more broadly this time. “Well, of course there’s now the expansive scar you’ll be sporting on the left side of your torso. I have a scar there too.”

John grimaced. It wasn’t that he minded scars, just...he’d never had one that deep or long before. He glanced to Kyle. “Where did yours come from?”

“Work, I guess you could say.” Kyle’s eyes darted quickly up to the ceiling and back, a look that John was starting to recognize meant that he was searching for a quick cover story.

He narrowed his eyes. “You told me you’d tell the truth.”

Kyle met his eyes again and this time the smile was replaced by a look of intensity, his brows knitting together. “You’re right. It is sort of true though. It’s just a long explanation.” He twisted the cuff of his sweatshirt between his fingers absently. “It involves, um, some of the stuff I was telling you about last night. Remember the demonstration I tried to do for you?”

John searched his mind for memories from the previous night. He remembered Kyle looking very serious and lifting his hand; the whisper of cold in the air. “I don’t really understand what you were trying to do.”

“It makes more sense if I can show you,” Kyle said. “I will, but for now I guess the best way to describe it is that it’s like… teleporting. Like you see in movies. I mean, it isn’t like that. For me. But that’s probably what it looks like.” Kyle trailed off, looking like he wanted to say more but was restraining himself.

John wanted to groan and put a hand to his face. Kyle believed the strangest things. But he just nodded politely. “Can’t you show me now?”

Kyle looked around the room as if measuring its size. “I could. That’s how I got to you on the mountain, you know.”

That was the first moment when John felt he could actually believe some of what Kyle was saying. How  _ did  _ he get up the mountain? It had almost seemed like magic. Kyle didn’t own a car of his own and no public transportation traveled that far. Hiking all the way from their house would have taken eons.  _ Could  _ it be possible? “I was wondering how you did that.”

“It’s called Gray Space,” Kyle said. “I was trained to sense it and move through it. At advanced levels, you can travel across vast distances very quickly. So when I felt that you were in pain, I came immediately.”

So much of what Kyle said seemed worth commenting on, but it was the mention of his pain that snagged in John’s mind. “You  _ felt _ me? Kyle that sounds nuts.”

Kyle’s eyes were dark when they met John’s, the fringes of his tattoos just visible over the line of his eyelashes. “I know it’s a lot. But I told you that I would be honest. So, you should know, we didn’t exactly end up as roommates by coincidence.”

John didn’t understand. Kyle didn’t seem like the stalker type but his words triggered a sense of alarm in his mind. “Well, how did it come about, then? Didn’t you just see my ad?”

But when he thought back, Kyle was the  _ only  _ person who stopped by interested in the room. That was a little odd. Wasn’t it? 

“Not exactly,” Kyle said. A hint of apprehension seemed to color his voice. “I knew you were looking for a roommate. And this morning I knew you were injured in the car accident. It’s sort of the reason why I’m here.” He flipped his hands palm-down and John could see the vivid black tattoos that spanned the backs of them. “I crossed through the Great Gate to find you. There’s a bond that links us together, one that has been there since you were a child.” Kyle looked at John, his eyes searching for something. 

A whisper of memory tugged at John’s skull. Something about Kyle’s words brought back a distant vision of bright, cruel light and cold; hissing voices speaking in a strange tongue. A streak of pain lanced his heart… A lake spread beneath him and storm clouds roiled above. John remembered falling. What was it about Kyle’s revelations that had John thinking of the time he’d been struck by lightning out on the lake with his family? 

“Kyle...this doesn’t make any sense,” he sighed, bringing up a hand to rub at his eyes. “I want to believe that  _ you  _ believe what you’re saying, but it just sounds…”  _ Crazy.  _ But he didn’t want to say it.

“I know,” Kyle admitted. “I told you I’d be honest. And I know you like to understand how things work. I’m sorry it’s all coming out like this at once though.”

John’s lips parted, then flattened. He did want to understand. Maybe it was the effect of his painkillers, but he  _ wanted  _ to think well of Kyle and he wanted to believe him even if it all sounded too fantastical to be real. The steady drip of his IV reminded him of where they were and he tensed even as his eyelids dropped halfway closed. He let out a long sigh.

“Maybe we should save the rest for later,” he said. “I’m not sure I’m ready to hear it all or to see this demonstration of yours.”

Kyle smiled a small, gentle smile. “Of course, John. I’ll be here whenever you’re ready.”

And strangely, despite everything, that knowledge filled John with an unfamiliar comfort. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for sticking with us on this journey! Any thoughts or comments are appreciated. <3

The hospital discharged John the next morning, and Kahlil had insisted on springing for a cab ride to take them home. John hadn’t put up a very strong argument against it, although he looked tense as he watched the city roll by outside the window. Kahlil couldn’t help his gaze being drawn back to John, no matter how many times he told himself to stop staring. His blond hair was still a little damp from his shower, just starting to form back into its wild curl. His face was tight with concentration, an expression that Kahlil was familiar with from years of watching John studying for finals or practicing his baseball pitch.

“Are you feeling okay?” he asked John, hoping to break the silence that had settled over the backseat of the cab.

It was almost as if hearing Kahlil’s voice had snapped John out of a stupor. “What?” John turned to him and raised his eyebrows. “Did you say something?”

Kahlil smiled gently, wondering what had had John so deep in thought. “I just asked if you were feeling alright after your long walk from the hospital-mandated wheelchair to the cab door,” he said.

Rather than smile at the teasing, John frowned. “I’m fine.”

Kahlil let the silence fall again, and spent the remainder of the short trip reminding himself not to push John too hard. Learning about other worlds and Gray Space would be difficult for anyone to accept; how much more so for a skeptic like John? 

As the cab driver turned them onto the narrow width of Indian Street, Kahlil spotted the golden-yellow of Rousma’s coat, curled up on the landing at the top of a short set of steps that led to the front door. He bit his lip, feeling guilt settle in the pit of his stomach. It was one thing to leave her in the park for an afternoon, but he had been gone overnight. He had considered leaving the hospital and going home to check on her, but the thought of being away from John’s side for even the short time it would take him to travel through Gray Space to their house was painful.

The cab pulled to a stop just a few feet from their front stoop. As he opened his own door, Kahlil twisted to look at John. “Do you need help getting out?”

John waved a hand. “I’ve got it.” He proceeded to grimace as he opened the cab door and slid out.

Kahlil watched without a word, sensing that John would prefer not to have an audience, but entirely drawn by the sight of his fluidity as he maneuvered his long frame. Despite the pain that he must be in, John still carried himself with the same confident stride that Kahlil had always associated with him.

Kahlil closed the car door behind himself and stepped up to the driver to hand him cash. The weather was warm again, yesterday’s storm having cleared out overnight. The sight of the driver’s rolled-down window brought Kahlil back to the mountain, and to a vision of John’s unconscious form resting amidst the broken shards of glass.

“You coming?” John called from the front door.

The image dissipated at the sound of John’s voice like morning mist under the heat of the sun. He waited until the cab had pulled away before he steeled himself and turned around to face them. Rousma was sitting now, and John was fishing gingerly in his pocket for his keys. It felt strange to see them side-by-side, like having flavors mixed together that you’d never thought would combine. “I’m coming,” he assured John, hurrying to get them both inside.

John finally got the correct key in the lock. As he turned it, he gave Rousma a cursory glance. “This is the dog, I assume?”

Kahlil glanced down at Rousma, hoping that the warning in his eyes properly conveyed that she shouldn’t say anything until they were safely inside. “Um, yeah,” Kahlil said distractedly. “We can talk about that, too.”

John nodded and opened the door. 

The moment the door latch clicked into place behind them, Rousma growled lightly and looked at Kahlil. “You is leaving me alone,” she accused, entirely accurately, and Kahlil felt torn between the need to explain to Rousma why he had abandoned her at the park and to explain to John why his dog was speaking.

“I’m sorry,” he said, hoping that maybe it could mollify both of them.

John had gone utterly still beside the stairs, his eyes wide and disbelieving as he stared at Kahlil and Rousma. His lips parted, then closed. Kahlil jumped in to explain.

“John, I mentioned my sister, I think? This is Rousma.” He inclined his head toward Rousma, who had sat again and was glaring at Kahlil. “Rousma, this is my friend John.” He looked over to John, and quickly amended. “My roommate.” 

John gripped the newel post of the stair railing, clenching so hard his knuckles went stark white. “Your sister is a dog…”

Kahlil glanced between the two of them, struggling to come up with a way to explain yet another strange facet of his life to John. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “It was a more recent development. She wasn’t always a dog.”

John took his hand off the railing and covered his face. “I can’t deal with this right now.” Without another word, he started up the stairs, slowly to accommodate his injuries. Kahlil wanted to give John space if that’s what he needed, but he suspected it would take more than a few minutes to himself for John to process everything that he’d been told over the past two days. He gritted his teeth and raised his right hand, quickly slipping into Gray Space. The house took on the familiar washed-out pallor that he had grown used to while watching over John before he had officially moved in. He felt a sharp edge catch his thigh as he moved to the top of the staircase, and cursed. The blood welled slowly through a cut in his pants. If he needed further proof that he was distracted, he had it. He couldn’t remember the last time he had cut himself in Gray Space.

He emerged at the top of the staircase, letting the seam of cold air fall closed behind him. 

John staggered back, catching himself on the stair railing, abject confusion written over his face. “What did you--what  _ was  _ that?!”

“We should probably go over a couple more things,” Kahlil said lightly, worried that John would fall down the stairs if he moved again.

John’s eyes grew impossibly wider with shock. His lips flattened into a thin line. He seemed to consider something in his mind for several moments. “Show me again,” he finally said.

Kahlil didn’t stop to second-guess John’s request. He split the Gray Space one stair down from where he stood at the top of the landing and stepped down into it. He skipped down a few steps from where John waited, reasoning that if John did fall at least he would be in a better place to catch him, and emerged. “How’s that?” he asked to John’s back.

John whipped around too quickly and a streak of pain flit across his face. He groaned and clutched his side, but managed to say, “Okay...what else are you  _ not  _ lying about?”

Kahlil smiled. Until a few days ago, the answer to that question would have been “absolutely nothing.” Telling the truth had a clean feeling to it, especially telling John. “Maybe you should sit down first,” he suggested lightly.

John peered over Kahlil’s shoulder at Rousma. “Where do you want to talk? What about the dog?”

Rousma took the opportunity to chime in. “You is better getting me something tasty before you is doing any more talky-talk.” Her tail twitched slightly, warning Kahlil that he was not yet entirely forgiven.

Kahlil looked back up at John. “Are you hungry?” he asked. “I should probably get takeout or something. I don’t have any food here.”

John raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have anything in that locked kitchen cabinet?”

“Nothing edible,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck and glancing away from John.

“What do you keep in there, then?”

Kahlil sighed and looked back up at John. Honesty, he reminded himself. He had vowed to John that he would tell him everything, and now was his chance to prove that. “It’s mainly ammunition. A few spare handguns.” He watched John carefully for a reaction.

A storm formed in John’s blue eyes. “You brought guns into this house and didn’t tell me?”

Kahlil held John’s gaze, despite the growing intensity that he saw there. “They’re for emergencies, you know? For protection. They’re locked away.”

John crossed his arms. “Protection from  _ what _ ?”

Glancing back down the stairs to Rousma, Kahlil sighed. “This will make more sense when I explain everything the right way. How about I order something and we can sit at the table and talk?” He smiled at John, hoping to convey his promise to tell the truth.

A muscle in John’s jaw twitched. “I want it all. The truth about everything.” That said, John turned back to head up the stairs. “I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

Kahlil felt a rush of anticipation sweep up his body. He realized that more than anything he’d wanted in a long time, he wanted to be honest with John. “How does Chinese takeout sound?” he asked John’s retreating form. “Want anything?”

“Whatever you like,” John tossed back.

Kahlil turned to Rousma. “Well, you heard him,” he said, taking the steps down two at a time. “Whatever we like. What’ll it be?”

Rousma padded over to where he waited at the bottom of the staircase. She was quiet for a moment, but then she must have decided that she had forgiven him. She sniffed the blood that stained his pant leg where he’d caught the jagged edge of Gray Space, then she licked his hand in a wet dog kiss and wagged her tail. “No doggies, please,” she said, looking up at Kahlil.

Kahlil nodded and smiled. “I think we can manage that.”

 

***

 

After he’d come downstairs, John had headed straight for a chair. His side was splitting, but he didn’t want to take any more painkillers than necessary. In truth, he just wanted to lie down, but having a deep conversation with Kyle in his bedroom felt too intimate. There was always the couch… But even that had a sense of familiarity he wasn’t quite ready for. John readjusted his long frame in the rickety chair and flicked his eyes to Kyle’s face. There was an expression of hopeful openness there that seemed at odds with the features Kyle had worn throughout much of their time living together. He’d always seemed so guarded and tentative. 

It should have made John relax, but after Kyle’s demonstration on the stairs, all he felt was a disbelieving tension thrumming in his veins. It was impossible. And yet, John had watched the teleportation--or whatever the hell it was--happen right before his very eyes.

“Talk,” John prompted. “I don’t care where you start.”

“You already know some of it,” Kyle began, his finger gently tracing the wood grain of the tabletop. “I told you about Basawar. And the Great Gate, well, you saw what’s left of that for yourself. I’ve been here for ten years, since I was twenty-one. And even before that, I was training to come through the gate. It’s difficult to make the crossing.”

John leaned forward, resting his elbows on the smooth surface of the table. “Why were you training to come here?”

Kyle’s head was still lowered, but he glanced up through the strands of hair that were slipping forward and looked at John. “I was looking for the Rifter,” he said, his voice trembling ever so slightly.

_ The Rifter.  _ The words meant nothing to John, but he could tell that whatever they implied filled Kyle with a wealth of feelings. “What is the Rifter?”

Kyle drew in a deep breath and glanced at the dog that had curled up under the table near his feet. “Here in this world,” he began, “the Rifter is just a person, mostly. But in Basawar they are an incarnation of the god Parfir. They’re powerful, and nearly indestructible. So once the Rifter is identified they send someone to watch over them. And that’s what I came here for.”

The only real imagery John had for gods of any kind came from his experience growing up with his overly religious family. “Incarnation” brought to mind visions of a glowing infant Jesus wrapped tightly in cloths. It wasn’t unfamiliar to think of a god encased in human flesh, and yet hearing it from Kyle’s lips felt strange and uncomfortable. John knew nothing about Basawar and its beliefs. Did he even believe what Kyle was saying at all? 

“Did you find them?” John asked, trying to take in all that Kyle was saying without immediately dismissing it as untrue. 

“I did,” Kyle said, carefully. When his gaze drifted down to the table again, the black tattoos on his eyelids were stark against his skin. “I was shown a vision by the oracles. I saw him swimming and climbing the rocks at Emerald Lake.” He looked slowly up at John, his dark eyes unwavering. “When they forged the bond, it really did feel like electricity.”

John’s body felt alien to him--too still and cold in that moment. It had happened years ago, he knew, but he could feel again the strike of the lightning and the hiss of gathered voices screaming in his ear.  _ No.  _ He shut his eyes, but still he could see the empty-eyed skulls grinning at him from the clouds. The memory had been tucked away for years, but Kyle’s words had surfaced the haunting images and sensations.  _ This can’t be… _

“The first time I crossed through the Great Gate, I thought I would certainly die. It was so bright, and so disorienting. Suddenly I felt like I was drowning, but I realized I had actually fallen through the gate and into a swimming pool.” He smiled at John. “It was night time, luckily. No one noticed.”

John’s family had put a pool in the summer before seventh grade. But this couldn’t be about him. Could it? “Kyle...what are you saying?”

“It didn’t actually take me that long to find you.” Kyle’s tone was light, but there was tension in his fingers as they twined together. “I ended up just watching for a long time.”

“I’m not the Rifter,” John said flatly. “I think I would know if I were some sort of... _ god _ .”

Believing that Kyle could teleport across the room and that he came from some alien world was one thing. Believing in himself as some powerful deity was something completely different.  _ That  _ was truly impossible. He would know if it were true.  _ Wouldn’t he? _

“You wouldn’t notice much here,” Kyle shrugged. “Like I said, here in Nayeshi the Rifter is mostly just a regular human. You might have picked up on subtle things, if you were looking closely and you knew what to look for.”

John dismissed it immediately. “I’m not. I’m just... _ not _ .” He couldn’t think of a single thing about himself that was that extraordinary. He was smart, sure. He was maybe taller than average, but no more so than outlying men. The only faith he clung to was a belief in the importance of the natural world around him. Nothing in those things spoke of some great power or purpose. “You’ve got it wrong, Kyle.”

“I know you felt something when we were near the rocks the other day,” Kyle said. “You told me that they bothered you. And then yesterday your pain called a storm down on the mountain. Don’t you remember how clear it had been before your accident? You have a connection with nature. When you were younger you loved to just sit outside in the grass under the trees.” Kyle shrugged. “Like I said, subtle things.”

Something snagged from Kyle’s words. “When I was younger?” he said. But then it made sense. Kyle had been here for ten years. John would have been just a child when he first arrived. “You’ve been watching me for ten years?”

“Watching over you,” Kyle corrected. “But yes, it’s been ten years.”

John groaned and shoved the heels of his palms into his eyes, rubbing at them impatiently. He took a moment to breathe and center himself. This...it was too much. None of it made any logical sense and yet here he was contemplating that he was some all-powerful creature and his creepy guardian angel was sitting at the dinner table right across from him. “I’m going to need definitive proof, Kyle. Just because I felt weird around some rocks and you claim that I started some storm after the accident doesn’t mean anything. Both of those could be explained away.”

Just as Kyle opened his mouth to respond, several knocks on the front door interrupted. John instinctively glanced in the direction of the foyer. Thank goodness for a momentary reprieve from this conversation. 

“I have cash,” Kyle offered, sliding out of his chair and standing.

“Is that tasties?” the dog asked from under the table. “I has been very patient.”

“Yeah, keep being patient. I have to pay for it.” Kyle’s last comment was directed back to the dog.

A shiver raced up John’s frame at the wrongness of a talking dog--let alone one that Kyle claimed was his sister. He watched Kyle’s lithe gait as he left the kitchen, almost sad to see him go considering it left him alone with “Rousma”. What in hell did one say to an animal that could talk back? He hoped Kyle would just pay and get back as quickly as possible. 

The dog had stood at the sound of the knock. She came around the table and sat down near Kyle’s vacated chair, looking at him. “You is having trouble believing in strange happenings?” she asked.

Too much awareness lived behind her watery brown eyes and it unnerved him. He closed his eyes and admitted, “Yes, I am.”

“I is seeing strange new things now. Before I see them only in dreams. Now I chase fluffy little jumper beasties that I is seeing with my own eyes,” the dog said.

John tried to make sense of her strange speech and almost chuckled at the phrase, “jumper beasties”. Something about it put him more at ease than he had been. The impulse to pat her head tingled in his fingers, but she wasn’t a dog. He didn’t know what she was. He kept his hands firmly on the surface of the table.

“You dream?” he asked, realizing that it was a stupid question as soon as the words formed on his tongue. Even if she  _ was  _ a dog, she would dream.

“I spends my whole life dreaming,” the dog replied. “They tells me I must find they Rifter. Then I finds you and they tells me to dream more futures. So many futures. You is in some of them.”

John frowned and crossed his arms. “Who tells you?”

“Holy priests and holy sisters. They make me this way. And they make Ravishan the way he be too.”

“Who is Ravishan?” Something about that name sent chills up his spine. As though he should know it. But he’d never heard it before.

The dog cocked her head at him.”My brother,” she said simply. “You is calling him Kyle.”

John whispered the new name to himself, letting the sounds of it fill up the spaces in his mouth. It suited him. Certainly better than Kyle did. His lips parted to ask Rousma another question when the man himself came into the room carrying two bulging sacks of Chinese cartons. The wafting scent of fried rice and egg rolls perfumed the air and John’s stomach ached in response.

“I can pay for half,” John offered.

“Don’t worry about it,” Kyle said, setting the bags down on the table and pulling white boxes and sleeves of wooden chopsticks out. He unfolded one box and set it on the floor for the dog, who sniffed it delicately.

“It’s chicken,” he told her with a small smile. “A bird.” Her only response was to take a piece between her teeth and begin eating in earnest.

John’s eyes followed Kyle’s movements down to the nimble length of his fingers as he opened the containers. Before he could talk himself out of it, he said, “Your sister tells me your real name is Ravishan. Why did you tell me it was Kyle?”

Those fingers stilled over the takeout box and Kyle sat down heavily in his chair. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed, finally meeting John’s gaze. “It was. But it isn’t now.”

John arched a brow. “Why not?” Given the look on Kyle’s face, John knew he should drop the subject, but something made him want to push. The need for answers buzzed in his blood and he wasn’t willing to let it go.

“I became Kahlil,” Kyle said, his voice rough. “I sacrificed myself to it; everything that I was faded away. I didn’t feel any connection to Ravishan after that.”

_ Kahlil.  _ It did sort of sound like “Kyle” in a strange way. “I don’t normally think of people sacrificing themselves to a name. Does  _ Kahlil  _ mean something special?”

Kyle gave a small smile. “It feels so surreal,” he murmured, shaking his head. His expression faded into something more serious after a moment and he looked back at John. “Sorry,” he said. “I just never expected to be explaining sacred theology to anyone here.” He took another deep breath. “Kahlil is the title given to the priest who is chosen to protect the Rifter. It’s what I was training for, and why I came here.”

“Oh. I see,” John said. 

John uncrossed his arms and clasped his fingers in his lap for a minute. When he couldn’t think of anything else to say, he reached across the table for a carton of fried rice and a pair of chopsticks. Since he was a kid, he’d always eaten the rice first when they went to a Chinese or Japanese place. It was his favorite part. Something about its presence gave a scrap of normalcy to this interaction between him and Kyle. For just a moment, they were two ordinary guys eating in silence at the dinner table with a dog between them--not some incognizant god and his acolyte.

As he reached for the carton labeled “sesame chicken”, John’s fingers brushed Kyle’s own. “Oh, sorry,” John said. “You can have it.” 

There was enough to share, but John felt too tired to get up for a plate for splitting it up.

“Oh, it’s fine,” Kyle said quickly. A faint blush spread up his cheeks and he stood awkwardly to reach past the container for a bag of condiment packets. “It’s all yours.”

“You’re sure?” John’s gaze remained on the stubborn blooms of pink on Kyle’s face. The blush made him seem younger than he was. 

“Yeah, absolutely,” Kyle said. He sat back into his chair and began ripping open soy sauce packets and dousing his container of rice. He was silent for a moment while he worked, but paused with his chopsticks poised before he began to eat. “What else did Rousma tell you, anyway?”

John paused in opening the sesame chicken carton and shifted his eyes to the dog who was pointedly ignoring them in favor of her own food. “She said that holy sisters and priests made you both the way you are. That she dreams. That she was made to find the Rifter. Something about seeing many futures.”

Kyle glanced at the dog and raised his eyebrows. “Sounds like quite a talk. Maybe I should have her explain everything instead. That’s all true, you know.”

“What  _ is  _ she?” John was slowly easing into the whole talking-dog part, but that still didn’t explain her odd speech or why she was convinced she saw visions. “Some sort of oracle?”

“Oracle is fair to say. When we were children they could tell that she was powerful. We both carry witch’s blood. Usually a holy sister is inducted much later, but Rousma was only four when they took her to Umbhra’ibaye.” Kyle smiled fondly at the dog, and reached out a hand to slide a silky-looking ear between his fingers.

John didn’t even try to mentally pronounce the last word. It rolled off Kyle’s tongue beautifully, though there had been a note of sadness in it as it slid past his lips. The dog stopped eating and gave a soft whimper. Somehow, John picked up on the fact that the topic was a hard one for both of them. Perhaps it was his intuition or perhaps it was the way Rousma looked at Kyle so openly in that moment. Either way, John changed the topic.

“What have you been doing for the last ten years? Now that I know you’re a Kahlil and not a milkman?” John tried for a smile, but it probably turned out as more of an accusatory line.

“I’ve been watching over you,” Kyle said simply, turning to look up from Rousma. “Making sure no harm came to you.” He winced a bit at that, and added “No major harm.”

“Define…’watching over’...like following me around?” Something about that image irked him. He had never seen Kyle in all his growing up years. If Kyle was watching him, he had been stealthy about it. And that was mildly troubling. 

Kyle frowned and rubbed at the back of his neck. “I haven’t followed you everywhere. If I knew some place was safe, like your school, then I didn’t go as often. But new places or trips, I definitely kept an eye on you. I went up the mountain when you went camping, especially when you went alone.”

John’s eyes widened and a taut sensation of annoyance stretched in his chest. “That was supposed to be my  _ alone  _ time, Kyle! That was the whole point! I never even saw you--”

“You wouldn’t have seen me,” Kyle broke in. “I stayed in Gray Space nearly the whole time.”

_ Gray Space... _ Kyle had said something about it at the hospital, but John’s drug addled mind at the time hadn’t latched onto its full meaning. “So what does that mean?”

Kyle swallowed. He seemed to have picked up on John’s irritation, because his next words were tentative. “When I move quickly, like I did on the stairs, I go through Gray Space. If I need to, can stay inside there without coming out. No one would be able to sense me at all.”

It was hard for John to imagine such a thing, but he tried to conceptualize a space between spaces in his mind. But the images that arose instead were of John thinking he was all alone in his most vulnerable emotional and mental places up on that mountain and actually having an audience to his activities. It sent a wave of betrayal through him. He clutched the chopsticks with his right hand until the coarse wood bit into his palm.

“When  _ else  _ were you watching, Kyle?” His words sounded icy as he bit them out. Did Kyle watch him in even  _ more  _ intimate moments? When he showered? When he was  _ with  _ someone? He didn’t want to think Kyle capable of it, but he was learning all sorts of things about the real man behind the tattoos today.

“Most of it was just normal life, just regular days,” Kyle said. His fingers gripping the table edge were turning white-knuckled with tension. “I saw you at the park with friends after school and when you would go on class trips I would go ahead of the bus. I thought that the petting zoo was pretty lame, by the way.” He tried for a smile.

John glowered at him. “Most of it?” 

Kyle’s weak smile faltered, but he kept his gaze fixed on John. “Some days stood out, certainly. You never did anything you should feel ashamed of.”

_ That’s  _ what Kyle thought he was afraid of? John’s blood pressure threatened to rise. “Why would I feel ashamed of anything?”

The flush returned to Kyle’s cheeks, darker this time. “I just meant- that--” He stammered, then took a breath and started again. “You shouldn’t feel bad about the times you were… the times you had company.”

John’s eyes narrowed. “So you  _ were _ watching me then, too.”

John was no exibitionist. Just the thought of a voyeur watching him making out or having sex with someone sent angry chills up his spine. 

“No,” Kyle said defensively. “I wasn’t watching. I mean, there were times when I saw you before your door was closed. But my point is that you shouldn’t feel ashamed at all. I was proud of you, John.”

“Why would I feel ashamed?” His skin felt hot and the ache from the laceration in his side throbbed in time with his racing heart. “I’m not ashamed of who I am. I gave up everything just to be myself.”

Kyle’s blush had faded and the blanched look it left behind highlighted the dark tattoos and the deep scars. “No,” he repeated. “You shouldn’t feel ashamed at all, that’s exactly my point. When I saw you stand up to your father that day I was so impressed by your bravery. Even though we had never said a word to each other, after nine years I felt like I knew you. I guess that’s why I could say I was proud.”

John’s eyes widened and he felt the muscles in his jaw twitch with the clench of his teeth. That moment--the moment he’d come out to his family--was seared forever in his mind as one of the most painful and liberating experiences of his life. It was  _ his  _ moment. Something that no one else got to have for themselves. And if John had had any remaining doubts that Kyle was telling the truth, the words just out of his mouth cast them away. Kyle wasn’t lying and John wished he had been.

A concrete, pivotal memory in his life--one in which he could still smell the scents and hear the sounds of his family’s home--was now altered. Different. Kyle had made it so by his mere presence. And John hated it. He didn’t feel a swell of pride at having been judged courageous. He didn’t feel less alone knowing that someone had witnessed his vulnerability. All he felt was an uncharacteristic rage. 

_ Get out,  _ John wanted to say. Instead, he said low, “I think I need to be alone.”

He pushed back from the table and stood up, not waiting to see what Kyle’s reaction would be. John only made it a step before a strong hand gripped him by the wrist.

He turned, wrenching his arm out of Kyle’s grasp. “What?”

Kyle gaped at John for a moment, as though he couldn’t find the breath to form words. As John looked down on him from his standing height, Kyle seemed younger somehow, his eyes wide and vulnerable. Slowly, he let his arm fall back down to hang by his side. “I’m so sorry.” His words came out rough and raspy.

John almost felt guilt prick his soul at the dejected look on Kyle’s face, but he couldn’t manage it. His lips parted, then closed. There was nothing left to say, so he simply left the kitchen and went into his room, closing the door behind him. John stood there, leaning against the back of his door for several minutes, mentally unpacking everything Kyle had said. But despite all of the crazy aspects of the conversation, the only thing that pulsated in his mind was the fact that Kyle had watched John come out to his family. It was such a violation that he could barely breathe with the emotion thickening in his throat. 

He pushed off the door and crossed to his messy futon. He wanted to throw himself onto it face first and scream into a pillow, but that wouldn’t be conducive to the healing of his laceration so he sat down gingerly instead. His red-lettered alarm clock on the floor proclaimed it early afternoon, but he just wanted to sleep. 

Pushing the unpleasantness of his talk with Kyle from his mind, John curled onto his right side and pulled up the pile of disheveled blankets and sheets to cover himself. But as tired as he was, sleep refused to come and all John could think about was the sad expression that lingered on Kyle’s face as he left the room. Somehow, the scars and the tattoos seemed to fade and in the last moment before sleep, all John saw in his mind was that pair of broken, dark eyes peering out at him. 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your support and feedback!

The sun had finally set, but the summer heat hadn’t faded much, especially in Kahlil’s bedroom on the second floor. The ceiling fan buzzed in time with a fly that was tapping against the frosted glass dome of the light fixture. Kahlil watched it from where he lay on his cot and wondered why it was that insects and animals and people all felt compelled to do stupid, useless things that would ultimately only hurt them.

“Shit,” he muttered again for the hundredth time as another flash of his conversation with John appeared unbidden in his mind. He cringed, thinking about the speed with which he had managed to alienate not only his entire world, but his only real connection to Nayeshi as well. He glanced down at Rousma where she slept at the foot of the cot and reminded himself that at least he had been able to keep one of his promises.

He wondered what John was thinking now. Baring his soul before John, telling him about his name and his purpose here, had felt good the way that purging a wound felt good. It hurt, but it was right and you were better for it afterward. Still, John’s face had gotten progressively more horrified as Kahlil had talked. In unburdening himself, he had heaped his troubles onto John. Kahlil groaned and threw an arm over his eyes, trying to block out the light and the memory together. With his eyes closed, however, it was that much easier to see John’s expression when he had wrenched his arm from Kahlil’s grasp.

Perhaps what he needed was action. He was driving himself mad laying there and reminding himself of all the ways that he had wronged John. He slid himself up to sit on the cot and glanced around the room. The chair next to him was a haphazard pile of spare change, gas station receipts, discarded wrappers, and other detritus that he had emptied from his pockets over time. His weapons hung from hooks along the wall, those that weren’t locked in the kitchen cabinet downstairs. Aside from the cot itself and a small pile of spare clothing that lay folded on the floor, the room was entirely empty. It seemed almost negligent to let a beautiful room like this one, high ceilings with sculpted plaster crown molding and tall, graceful windows of rippling antique glass, house such inadequate furnishings.

Slowly, he began sorting through the messy pile on his chair. It gave him something to do beyond considering how badly he’d managed to handle his conversation with John. Looking at all of the little slips of paper put his habits into perspective. He’d been here in Nayeshi for ten years, but in all that time he’d never ventured far from John’s vicinity, never even left Washington State. Now he could go anywhere he wanted, and he could show Rousma every freedom that Nayeshi offered. They could leave together, if John asked them to move out. Everything in this room would fit in a small backpack or strapped to his waist. Somehow though, the thought of leaving seemed almost too awful to contemplate. Nayeshi felt like a wasteland of Gray Space outside of the area that John occupied.

A quiet knock outside his door interrupted his thoughts and woke Rousma. She looked up at the door from where her head was pillowed on her paws, then glanced over to Kahlil and promptly put her head back down and closed her eyes.

“You don’t have to pretend you’re asleep,” he muttered to her as he crossed the room. He hadn’t bothered locking his door, but he took a deep breath and paused before opening it. John had looked so upset after their conversation, but he was here now. Kahlil pushed some of the stray wisps of hair off his face and opened the door.

John looked much more himself than he had that morning. He seemed less disheveled than after their return from the hospital and something in his posture was more relaxed and open.

“Hey,” Kahlil said, forcing his eyes up to meet John’s. “You look better.” He felt the blood rising in his neck and cheeks and rubbed absently at the small hairs at the back of his braid. The last thing he wanted was to scare John away again with weird commentary about how he looked.

John blinked, the edges of his mouth twitching as though they wanted to frown. He ran a hand through his wild hair and said, “I got a call from Laurie.”

“Oh,” Kahlil said. “How is she doing? Is she out of the hospital?” Laurie had cheerfully waved them out of her room that morning, telling them not to wait around for her but to definitely bring balloons if they planned on returning. Bill, sitting next to her on the narrow bed, had laughed and agreed.

“She’s still there, but says they’re going to let her go home in the morning.” John glanced around Kahlil’s body, apparently taking in the sparseness of his room. “...Can I come in?”

“Yeah, of course,” Kahlil said, stepping away from the door. It felt unusual to see John so uncertain of himself, and he remembered that John had probably never seen the inside of this room since Kahlil had moved in a year ago. One more wall between them, crumbling away.

What would John think of his rickety collection of furnishings? Kahlil bit his lip, wishing he had a better seat to offer. He crossed back to the chair and swept his arm across it, clearing the last of the change and loose wrappers that he had been working on sorting. “Would you like to sit?” he asked, looking back up to where John lingered in the doorway.

“Oh, sure,” John said, stepping into the room and crossing to the chair. As he sat, he glanced all around him. “You haven’t exactly done much with the place.”

Kahlil settled cross-legged onto the cot facing John. He didn’t seem as angry as he had earlier, but Kahlil knew how adept John was at hiding his feelings. After ten years he often still found it difficult to read him. “No,” he confirmed. “I guess I haven’t.” The silence crept in between them as he trailed off.

John clasped his hands between his knees, flexing and twining his fingers together. Hoping to fill the lull, Kahlil groped for any safe topic. “Why did Laurie call?” he asked. “Just to tell you that she is going home tomorrow?”

John looked up at Kahlil, then away. “Not exactly. I mean, she _is_ going home tomorrow, but that’s not what we talked about really.”

Kahlil felt a twinge of worry settle in his gut. Something was definitely on John’s mind, and whatever it was, it made John uncomfortable. Bracing himself for another tense conversation like they had had over lunch, Kahlil prompted, “What did you talk about?”

“I told her about our argument,” John admitted. “She could tell I was off and sort of pried it out of me. I figured since I’d already told her about Basawar and everything, she could hear the rest.”

“Oh,” Kahlil said mildly. The fanning cracks of broken secrets were spreading so quickly. He didn’t begrudge John telling his friends what was going on, but the feeling of inertia was overwhelming. You could never put spilled oil back into the lamp. He had to remind himself that it was only two days ago that he had met Laurie and Bill. “Did she believe you?” he asked John.

For the first time, John’s lips quirked up into a half-smile. “Laurie believes _everything_.”

In the brief time that he had known her, Kahlil had certainly seen the truth of that. He frowned at John, uncertain where he was going with this. “I don’t mind that you told her. There’s no one to stop me from telling anyone I like now that the gate is destroyed.” The image of the broken, crumbling gate splitting up through the mountainside returned to him. The Payshmura had banished him. He didn’t owe them anything more.

John nodded. He unclasped his hands and rested them on his knees. “She told me I wasn’t being fair to you.” His eyes were focused on the wooden floor. “That I needed to hear your side of things more clearly.”

Of all the things John could have said, that was probably the last that Kahlil expected. Laurie hardly knew him, and yet she was convincing John to try to make some kind of peace between them? He shook his head vaguely, not sure he understood correctly. “Why would she say that?”

John shrugged. “Laurie has a way of seeing beneath the surface of things. She’s right. When you and I talked earlier, all I could think about was my own reaction. You’ve been here for ten years in a strange world--as crazy as that is to believe. You’ve been alone. I really don’t understand any of it.”

Kahlil blinked and watched John. He was much calmer now than he had been. “I promised you honesty,” Kahlil reminded him. “I’ll do anything I can to help you understand. When I came to Nayeshi I thought I knew what to expect, but everything surprised me. If there’s something I can tell you to help you make sense of this, I’ll do it.”

“Well,” John huffed out a small laugh. “I guess I just wanted to apologize for storming off and see if you wanted to continue our conversation? I have some more questions if you’re up for it.”

It felt so good to see John laugh, even a small and nearly ironic laugh. Kahlil smiled and straightened up where he sat, settling more comfortably into his position. “I’m absolutely up for it,” he said, ready to go wherever John wanted to take this conversation.

“It’s just...I don’t know what your experience was--coming out--but mine was pretty complicated for me. I knew going in, really, that my family wouldn’t be supportive. Being gay had always been something I kept to myself--except with the few people I slept with. My parents are extremely conservative and their view of the world doesn’t accept... _me._ ” John ran a hand through his hair and exhaled, glancing at the ceiling--anywhere that _wasn’t_ at Kahlil.

Kahlil felt the blood draining from his face while John spoke, followed by a sudden feeling that the room was tilting sideways. He reached out his hand to steady himself against the thin mattress. Seeing the prayerscar there helped center him. He looked back to John, whose gaze was still pointedly fixed somewhere above his head. “I’m so sorry,” Kahlil said, his voice coming out raspy. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize what I would be intruding on that day. I’m sorry about all of that.”

John finally looked at him. “I guess you couldn’t have known what you were going to see at any given time. I won’t say it’s not your fault. You _were_ spying on me, it seems like. But you don’t seem the type to intentionally intrude on something private.”

Relief swept over Kahlil at John’s words. Whatever Laurie had said to him seemed to have fizzled out his anger a great deal. Not wishing to upset him further, Kahlil chose his words carefully. “When I first got here, I never even thought about it. I was fulfilling a sacred duty. Since childhood, I had read holy texts that talked about the Rifter, and what it meant to be Kahlil. But the texts never talked about homework, or baseball practice, or high school graduation. I had to unlearn all of the prayers so that I could learn you were human.”

John’s blue eyes widened and his pale lips parted. He said nothing for a few moments. Then, “I can’t...I mean--I can’t imagine myself to be what you think I am.”

Kahlil smiled, a surge of fondness for John sweeping him. “Of course, here in Nayeshi you’d hardly notice anything. But I think you’ll start to recognize all of the subtle things that make you different. If you’re looking for them, of course. You felt something near the stones of the Gate, after all.”

“I suppose.” John’s gaze drifted to his hands on his knees. Things fell quiet in the room for a brief stretch. The long index finger on John’s left hand tapped absently. “As weird as it is to think of myself as some powerful being, and you as some warrior monk from another world, I guess we do have some things in common.”

“I know,” Kahlil said. “I remember our conversation in the hospital. Coffee pots and torso scars.”

“Right,” John laughed, and Kahlil felt a warm glow of pleasure at the sound. There had been so much tension between them since they had discovered the stones that hearing John laugh seemed novel and wonderful.

“You do believe me, then?” Kahlil asked. He watched John carefully, hating to see that smile fade into a look of thoughtfulness, but anxious to find out.

John cocked his head to the side. “I think I do. Besides, it’s better to believe most of what you’re saying than to think you’re some kind of religious zealot stalker.”

Kahlil nodded vaguely, smiling at John’s description of him. He was certain that there were some in the Fai’daum who would call him a religious zealot. It didn’t matter anymore though, and John didn’t think he was. “Anything’s better than a milkman, right?” he said, cocking an eyebrow toward John.

“Definitely better.” John was full-on smiling now and it did wonders for softening his sometimes intimidating appearance. Kahlil could hardly look away from the sight.

“I never liked telling people that,” he commented. “It sounds so dull.”

“It _is_ dull. Either people will leave you completely alone about your job or they’ll ask inane questions about how a milkman even makes it in the modern age.”

Kahlil hadn’t told many people his cover story - he hadn’t met all that many people in Nayeshi - but John was entirely correct. “Lucky for me that you turned out to be in the first group,” he said. “I don’t know if I could have come up with enough details to satisfy your analytical mind.”

A faint flush spread over John’s cheeks, but he ducked his head to glance at the change strewn on the floor, as though he didn’t want Kahlil to catch the evidence. “Well, you made a mistake in telling me the truth if you didn’t want me to bombard you with questions. I’m not done asking them.”

“No,” Kahlil shook his head, but could feel that he was still smiling. “It wasn’t a mistake. It feels wonderful. Ask me anything.”

“Well,” John wound his fingers together, flexing them in slow pulses, “You mentioned being proud of me when I came out to my parents. I mean...since you didn’t really _know_ me at the time, I just thought it was either creepy--indicating just how closely you watched me--or that there was some deeper reason behind it. Why did you say that?”

Kahlil spoke slowly, considering John’s question and the right way to respond. “I hadn’t met you yet, that’s true. But I felt like I knew you, I think, because I had been near you for so long. It’s difficult to explain how fully my life has circled around you, but it’s true. And I was proud of you because-,” he paused to take a breath, feeling abruptly winded. “Because it’s a really hard thing to do, to have a conversation about who you really are. Especially knowing that your family, who are supposed to protect you, would condemn you for it.” He shook his head, staring down at the mattress and the backs of his hands where they rested on top of it. He couldn’t bring himself to meet John’s eyes. He wasn’t sure what the sight of that concerned expression would do to him. They were close, so close, to memories that Kahlil had not thought about in years, had not let himself dwell on.

Feeling like a coward for keeping his eyes down, he spoke. “I guess I felt proud because you didn’t let any of that get in the way for you. You stood up in front of everyone and told the truth on your own terms. I admired that.”

John shifted in the chair and was silent for several moments. Outside the window, birds chirruped pleasantly, filling up the absence of sound in a way that was more peaceful than tense, but John’s lack of response began to worry Kahlil. Finally, “Have you...ever told anyone about yourself, Kyle? I know you were at the bathhouse, but that doesn’t mean you’re out. I would never pressure you, I’m just curious.”

Kahlil’s hands were beginning to break out into a cold sweat, and he rubbed them self-consciously against the fabric of his pants. How could he even begin to answer that question to John, of all people? John’s bravery and his resolve put him to shame, and the last thing he wanted was to give John another reason to think less of him. He had promised John the truth though, and no matter how terrible it felt now, he knew there was no way to mend the distrust between them without being entirely honest. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself and decided how to begin.

 

***

 

John watched Kyle’s face pale considerably in the time that had passed since he asked his question. The topic was clearly distressing and John almost opened his mouth to withdraw his insensitive inquiry when Kyle parted his full lips and spoke tentatively.

“I’ve told Rousma, but she’s not the only one that knows. I wasn’t always as discreet as I should have been when I was younger.” Kyle’s voice was so much softer than it had been while they had bantered about being a milkman. He was absently running his thumb over the back of his opposite hand, and his gaze seemed far away. “It’s not… it’s not like it is here. Basawar, I mean. There’s not really a concept of being out.”

Kyle’s radiant smile had disappeared and the soft frown that rested on his face now accentuated the deep red scars of his cheeks. John’s eyes ghosted over the tattoos on the downcast eyelids. From what John had seen and heard so far of Basawar, he didn’t feel much inclination to ever want to go there himself. “Is there a lot of discrimination there?”

“It’s illegal,” Kyle said simply, finally meeting John’s gaze. “The punishments can be harsh if you’re caught.”

“Oh. God, that’s--I’m sorry, Kyle,” John sputtered lamely. Of course there had been times in his own country’s history where loving someone of the same sex was illegal, but thinking of it in a modern context was incongruous to John’s own experience. “No wonder you’ve been quiet about it.”

A smile quirked one corner of Kyle’s mouth and he shrugged. “It’s so different here. With everything changed for me now that the gate is destroyed, it feels like I have a new kind of freedom. Maybe I can make the most of it.”

“Is there someone here you like?” John was somewhat curious what sort of person Kyle might find attractive. What sorts of qualities did someone from Basawar look for when searching for a relationship?

At his words, Kyle blushed deeply and dropped his eyes back down to his hands. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “No, there’s no one. I mean… um, there hasn’t been anyone. Not here.”

“You haven’t been with someone for _ten_ years?” John found that very difficult to believe. He wasn’t one for serious relationships himself--or at least hadn’t been with his busy school schedule and solitary ways--but even he found time to visit Steamworks once in a while or casually meet up with men he found interesting every now and again. The idea of going ten years without companionship just sounded so...sad. Lonely. “Sorry. It’s none of my business. Forget I asked.”

“No, it’s fine.” Kyle took a shaky breath. “I guess it does sound strange, but I felt fulfilled from my duty here. Even when it was lonely, I knew that I was blessed and that I was honoring Parfir. I thought that he was giving me the strength to resist temptation.”

Not being religious himself, John found that sort of reasoning hard to understand, but he tried. As an adult with freedom to believe whatever he liked, John had expunged words from his strict upbringing like “temptation” and “sin” from his mind long ago. Perhaps now that the gate was destroyed, Kyle would be able to relax and enjoy life a bit more. Did he even know the sorts of hobbies normal people nurtured? What would Kyle even talk about on a date? The only things they’d been talking about for days revolved around his mysterious world and its freaky religious culture. John tried to imagine Kyle making small talk over dinner at a nice Italian place. He’d stick out like a sore thumb.

“Well, you certainly know what’s best for yourself, but it would probably do you some good to live a little,” John put in.

“I want to. I do. I nearly managed it that night that I saw you at Steamworks. I just need to get over my stupid hangups.” Kyle managed a small smile, and something in his eyes struck John as almost defiant, daring him to disagree.

John was tempted to hold up his hands to reassure Kyle, but he kept them on his knees. His sense of restraint couldn’t keep him from asking, “What sort of hangups?”

Kyle raised a hand to his face and scrubbed at his eyes. He still had the same washed-out pallor that John had noticed when they had broached the subject of coming out. He spoke after a moment, but he kept his eyes fixed somewhere between John and the floor. “It’s not impossible to find men to be intimate with in Basawar, but everything must be done in secret. Still, I had experiences. I was a teenager.” John thought he saw a flicker of something pass behind Kyle’s eyes, but it was hard to tell when he kept his head lowered. “When you’re young I think the danger adds a bit of excitement. But it can catch up with you eventually, and that’s doubly true when you’re under very close supervision. I was reckless and stupid, and I learned that lesson in the end.” Kyle’s hand had drifted back up to his face and he rubbed absently at the scar tissue that marred his cheek. The jagged lines extended back nearly to his ears, partially disappearing into the shorter pieces of hair that escaped from his long black braid.

John froze. “Your scars…” He hoped he was wrong, but it seemed too coincidental that Kyle would brush his fingers along the gruesome lines just as he so breathlessly mentioned learning hard lessons. “Did someone hurt you because you were with someone?”

Kyle’s expression was still distant, as if he were lost in a memory, but he answered John’s question. “The priest who trained me. He came upon me with a man, not for the first time. He certainly would have preferred to kill me, but he settled for a memorable punishment.”

“God, Kyle, that’s…” John couldn’t find words that could possibly communicate how incredibly fucked up that was. “I’m so sorry.” It wasn’t enough, but it was all he could think to say.

Neither of them said anything more for what felt like a long time. Kyle’s hand eventually dropped from his cheek, and he pulled the ends of his sleeves over his hands until only a few fingers were visible. John wished he could think of something to say to encourage him, but just trying to imagine the sort of hellish existence Kyle had experienced in Basawar derailed him. Sure, John’s father had hit him and screamed at him to get out of their lives and never return, but John hadn’t been attacked with a blade. He didn’t carry lasting physical damage from his experience of exposure. This intimate revelation from Kyle had knotted John’s chest up and he had no idea how to proceed.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I suppose it makes more sense now why you’d avoid relationships.” His hand itched to reach out and clasp Kyle’s shoulder--to somehow show solidarity with him, but he didn’t move it. He didn’t know if it would be welcome.

“It’s stupid though,” Kyle shrugged. “I’m here now, and it’s not like anyone here would care. I know it’s ridiculous…” He trailed off, but he flicked his gaze up to John for just a moment. His eyes were so dark, pupil and iris virtually blending together into one. There was vulnerability there, and an unspoken question.

John’s mouth went dry as he said, “It’s not ridiculous.” He couldn’t even imagine the sort of pain Kyle had been through just for being himself. “You’ve endured a lot, Kyle.”

“No more than some,” Kyle said, glancing at the dog that slept at the foot of his bed. His sister. “I don’t want to make excuses for myself. I’ve done so many things I’m not proud of. Not the least of which was invading your privacy for so long.”

John rested his forearms on his knees and leaned forward. “Kyle? I won’t say I’m not angry about that--because I still am, to be honest--but I think I’m starting to understand you a bit better and I don’t think your intent was malicious in any way.”

“I never wanted to hurt anyone,” Kyle said. “Especially not here. Everyone here is so…” He trailed off, searching for a word. “So generous,” he finished.

It suddenly struck John that Kyle’s view of the world was distinctly positive despite his experiences in life. There he was, sitting on an army cot next to his dog-sister with his body permanently scarred because some crazed priest had mutilated him for being with a man--and yet, he held a soft expression on his face and claimed the people of the world to be generous. It went against every suspicion John had held over the last year about his roommate, but he wanted to get to know someone like that.

“We should…” John paused, unsure if he really wanted to extend the olive branch, but deciding it was worth it, “we should hang out more.”

Kyle’s smile widened at the suggestion. It brightened his face so dramatically, John noticed. “I would like that,” Kyle said. “I had fun at the diner with you, meeting your friends.”

“Yeah?” John returned the smile. “You were surprisingly normal. I was shocked.”

“Worried that I would embarrass you in public?” Kyle asked with a playful note in his voice.

“Honestly? I totally was,” John admitted with a laugh. “But you’re full of surprises.”

Kyle’s blush returned, suffusing his face with deep color. “I’ll try not to spring any more like the surprises of the past two days on you,” he said, ducking his head.

“Well, to be fair, I should have seen the ‘roommate from another world’ trope a mile away,” John said with a sigh.

“Oh, really?” Kyle asked, looking back at him with a sly expression. “What was the giveaway?”

“What are those priests in Basawar thinking tattooing you guys up like that? No one here would put tattoos on their eyelids! Dead giveaway.” John sat back in the chair and crossed his arms, smirking.

“They’re sacred prayerscars,” Kyle said, affronted. He was still smiling though. He studied the backs of his hands. “They might be a little bit conspicuous,” he added.

“Very,” John said. “What do they mean?”

“They’re ancient calligraphy,” Kyle said, tracing one with his fingertip. “They protect from curses and from travel through the Great Gate.”

“Oh.” When John really looked at the strange markings, they had a subtle kind of beauty to them and any time Kyle had his eyes open, the lines over his eyes could almost be mistaken for eyeliner. It was very striking to say the least.

Kyle was still smiling at him and for a moment, John was disarmed by how normal he managed to look--how handsome. He stood up then, slowly so he didn’t pull at his wound, and stretched his legs. When he looked down at Kyle, still seated on the bed, he noticed that he was blushing again.

“I was thinking of going to the park later,” Kyle said quickly, dropping his gaze to look over to Rousma. “You’re welcome to come with us, if you’re feeling better.”

John thought about it and appreciated the offer, but the ache in his side reminded him that he’d nearly been thrown through a car window recently. “Thanks, but could I go with you guys another time? I think I probably need to go lie down for a while. I don’t know how you functioned with your shoulder wound being as bad as it was.”

Kyle smiled and gave a little shake of his head. “It wasn’t that bad,” he claimed. “And now that you’ve patched it up, it’s much better.”

“That was days ago,” John pointed out. “Tell me you’ve cleaned it since then.”

“This afternoon,” he confirmed. “I didn’t have many other opportunities between running up a mountain after you and fretting by your bedside.”

The idea that Kyle had fretted by his bedside reinforced the nascent idea that John’s roommate was in fact a good person and he had just missed it all this time. Another thought occurred to him. Had he even thanked Kyle for saving their lives?  “Thanks for that, by the way--for running up the mountain and fretting. I’m not sure what would have happened to my friends and me if you hadn’t been there to call for help.”

“You’re welcome.” Kyle’s broad, handsome smile was back now. “Although I’m not sure I can take all the credit. Laurie was the one who actually called. I couldn’t get the cell phone turned on.”

John laughed at that as he crossed to the doorway. “Do you even _have_ one of those?”

“A cell phone? No way.” Kyle looked thoughtful. “I never really needed one.” John watched as he raised his hand up to his mouth and made a nearly imperceptible motion with his fingers. “I have my own way of communicating over distance.”

John jolted when the sound manifested like a whisper right behind him. He turned his head, but of course no one was there. “How did you _do_ that?” he asked, glancing back to Kyle.

Kyle smiled impishly. “Just another skill I picked up. It’s like moving through the Gray Space, except you only send your voice.”

John was still having trouble wrapping his head around the concept of the Gray Space, but he nodded like he fully understood. “I see.”

The door handle felt cool beneath John’s fingertips as he turned it. For the first time in Kyle’s presence, he wasn’t ready to leave. They’d had a nice conversation and John would go so far as to say he’d enjoyed his roommate’s company. It felt new and strange. But the throbbing in his side had steadily grown worse throughout their talk and he was starting to feel a bit lightheaded from the pain. He opened the door and stepped through.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Kyle,” he said, turning to look back at a radiant smile and bright eyes.  

“I’ll be here,” Kyle agreed.

And the crazy thing was, as he slowly took the stairs down to his bedroom, John found he was glad of it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you to everyone who has read, given kudos, commented, and sent love towards our story! You guys are the best! We hope you enjoy this chapter.

A brutal wind whistled in John’s ears as he strode beside Kyle to the park with Rousma. They’d only been outside for ten minutes and already his exposed face felt chapped and icy. His eyes flicked to Kyle and he noticed the rosy glow to his pale cheeks, noticed too the smile on his face. John softened. They’d been walking in silence most of the way since leaving the house, but it was comfortable and quiet and John found himself utterly relaxed in his body despite the unrelenting chill to the air. 

They’d spent the last six months making this walk together at least a couple of times a week. John wasn’t even sure when their friendship had stopped feeling tentative and shakily new and become solid and comfortable, but now he was glad of it. It was nice to have another friend--particularly one as steadfast and earnest as Kyle. Slowly, over the weeks and months, nearly every preconceived notion John had held about his roommate had crumbled or changed. Gone was the notion that Kyle was a freak of nature or a psychopath waiting to kill him and in its place was the knowledge that he was just a man from another place just like anyone else. Except  _ his  _ other place turned out to be another world. 

The truth of Kyle’s past had settled over time in John’s mind like silt in a stirred up river. Every now and then, more kernels of information would surface, but John would simply assimilate them into his bank of knowledge about Kyle and go on with his life. Just yesterday, he’d learned that Kyle’s mother had been some sort of herbalist in Basawar and would use her skills to make potions and poisons alike. A strange mixture of warmth and pain flexed over Kyle’s face at the mention of her and John was curious as to the reason, but he’d learned when Kyle was and wasn’t willing to talk more about a topic. 

Rousma weaved between their legs, nearly tripping John and pulling him out of his thoughts. “Whoa,” he said, breaking the silence. “Easy, Rousma.”

She made an indignant sniff and kept walking, swifting ahead slightly. Kyle sighed and shook his head. They’d warned Rousma against talking in public, but she didn’t like the admonition and let them know it whenever they had to remind her. John still couldn’t believe that a talking dog had become commonplace in his life. The only people they let her be herself around were Laurie and Bill and of course each of them had taken her fantastical ability in stride even though Bill couldn’t be around her for longer than five minutes without sneezing. 

“One of these days, we should buy a leash,” John teased, loud enough for Rousma to hear up ahead. She craned her neck back with murderous canine eyes. “But I guess that would make her even more likely to trip us up.”

“Absolutely,” Kyle agreed, turning to John with a smile. “You say leash, but she hears the words ‘deadly weapon’. She’s resourceful.”

“Ah, true. No leashes, then.”

John fisted his gloved hands in his pocket, attempting to warm them further as they rounded the sidewalk and entered the gate that led into the park. Rousma had already sprinted off ahead to chase squirrels and the few birds that braved the winter months. In the summer and fall, John and Kyle had sat at a picnic table underneath a stand of trees whenever they came here, but it was too cold to sit today so they started a loop around the park, leaving Rousma to her own devices. The brown grass crunched beneath their feet as their boots broke up the frost. John loved that sound.

“How’re things at the coffee shop?” he asked, turning his head to face Kyle as they continued their trek. 

“Oh, things there are great,” Kyle said. “You wouldn’t believe how many new people come in every day. And the regulars, of course. Some of them know my name now.” John noticed how his face lit up whenever he talked about meeting new people at his job.

The coffee shop manager thought Kyle was some sort of illegal immigrant--which in a way, he really was--and paid him under the table in cash since he didn’t have any sort of proper documentation. John wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but since Kyle had told him long ago that he used to steal all those giant wads of cash he walked around with, it made both of them feel better that Kyle had an avenue for earning his money now. Sometimes John visited him at  _ It’s Bean a While _ and ordered his own black coffee while watching the other customers interact with Kyle. It was amazing how warm and kind Kyle could be despite his appearance. 

But when John thought on it, when had Kyle been anything else? 

“I’m glad. You still like your boss and coworkers?” John asked, bringing his fists out of his pockets to rub together in front of his warm breath.

Kyle glanced up thoughtfully. “Yeah, for the most part. I think Diane has finally resigned herself to me and my punk tattoos.” He glanced at John with a chagrined smile, shrugging off the memory. He had told John about Diane’s complaints--not limited to just his tattoos but the “off-putting scars” and “intimidating appearance”. Kyle continued, “Mr. Vasilakis said he didn’t mind as long as I showed up on time. He’s pretty nice actually, once you get past the bluster.”

“He looks like he walked out of one of those eighties’ mob movies,” John commented offhandedly.

Kyle smiled at John. “I’ll have to take your word for that. Unless you want to rent one next Friday?”

John laughed. “That works for me. There are a million to choose from, though. And I’ve only seen about two of them so maybe we pick one I haven’t seen before and see where our luck takes us?”

“Sure,” Kyle agreed easily. “I’ve liked all the movies we’ve picked so far. I do miss baseball season though,” he said, a wistful note in his voice.

“There’s always next year,” John assured him. 

He brought his hands back down to his side, brushing Kyle’s ungloved hand as he did so. A jolt sparked through him and he felt heat rise to his cheeks. He turned his face quickly away before Kyle could see and shoved his hands back into his pockets. This was new--this... _ noticing _ the distances or nearness between them. John was more aware of Kyle next to him on their walks and on the couch when they watched baseball or had their movie nights on Fridays. He didn’t know what to do with that. Other than Bill, he’d never really had a close male friend and certainly hadn’t had one that shared his orientation. Things felt tenuous between them--like any second things could break into crystalline pieces. John liked where their friendship had taken them and didn’t want to jeopardize that in any way. 

So he kept his hands in his pockets and let his flush dissipate without looking back at Kyle. If Kyle noticed the contact, he didn’t comment on it.

They walked around the park several times making easy conversation until John’s body had warmed considerably. He scanned the center meadow for Rousma and found her chasing some other dog’s frisbee. 

“We had better call her before she irritates that dog’s owner,” John remarked, shaking his head with a sigh. “It’s hard to imagine she was ever anything else but a happy dog.”

“It does fit her personality,” Kyle agreed, but his smile looked strained. Cupping his hands around his mouth, he shouted across the open grassy area to where Rousma was chasing down the toy. She stopped and perked her head up at the sound of Kyle’s voice, but she didn’t seem like she was in a hurry to join them. Kyle rolled his eyes at her and turned back to John. “I guess we’re walking to her now,” he said.

John sighed. “I suppose.”

They headed toward the interior of the field, Kyle moving slightly ahead of him. John’s eyes trailed over Kyle’s back, taking in his lithe, powerful body through the long coat he wore. John looked away quickly after realizing what he was doing. What  _ was  _ he doing? To put some space between them, John stopped and waited for Kyle to talk Rousma into coming back with them. The wind swirled around him, tossing his unkempt hair that he’d tied back hastily at the nape of his neck and he closed his eyes. Even in the winter, he could smell the earth around them. Kyle said it was because of his divine nature. John just thought he probably had a better-than-average sense of smell. Whatever it was, it grounded him for a moment and took him out of his troubled thoughts. 

He was noticing Kyle. He had to call it for what it was. And as Kyle and Rousma came back to stand with him, he couldn’t stop the small smile that splayed across his lips at seeing them.

“Let’s go home,” he said.

And at Kyle’s radiant, one-in-a-million grin, John knew for the first time that he was in trouble. 

 

***

 

Kahlil wasn’t sure when it had happened, but there must have been a day, some otherwise unremarkable day, where he woke up and went about his life and never thought once about Basawar. It was hard to believe, because there had been years where every detail of Nayeshi begged itself to be compared to his world: the blue of the sky and the green of the treetops were so much brighter, the fragrances more pungent and prevalent, the foods sweeter or spicier. There must have been such a day though, because Kahlil had realized recently that he had hardly thought of Basawar in some time. He had been caught up with his life, and things that would have brought to mind his mission or his past had either been pushed aside or had simply become a part of the world of Nayeshi in his mind. 

The yasi’halaun, along with his curse blade, was stowed in the back of his bedroom closet now. John had insisted that he clear out the kitchen cabinet where he’d been storing two handguns and a large assortment of ammunition. He had sold the lot to a pawn shop broker who had been convinced that they were valuable antique Swiss dueling pistols. Kahlil had shrugged and agreed to the first price that had been suggested. Even glancing in the mirror didn’t seem to bring back the same pained memories that it used to. Kahlil wondered if telling John about his past had somehow made it start to heal properly, like lancing a painful blister.

Kahlil glanced at John as they walked side by side back to Indian Street. The cold wind had brought bright spots of red out on his cheeks and his breath came out in puffs of visible white fog. Though there were certainly advantages to summer and the relative lack of clothing that went with the warmer temperatures, Kahlil found that he enjoyed seeing John in each season. He could attribute so much of his contentment during the past six months directly to John. Since Kahlil’s revelations to his roommate, John seemed more comfortable around him, as though all the rough edges and unexplained behaviors were now acceptable, or at least explainable, in light of his unusual upbringing. Kahlil wasn’t sure why exactly, but whatever had brought out this openness in John, he had taken full advantage of it. 

Between their walks in the park, watching baseball games on John’s static-y television, and cooking dinner together whenever their schedules worked out so that they were both home in the evenings, Kahlil was seeing more of John than he ever had before. And John had seemed… different. He was more willing to be caught up in casual conversations over breakfast or to laugh at Kahlil’s observations on their walks though the park. He smiled more easily, it seemed to Kahlil. Perhaps the stress of having a mysteriously strange roommate was that much more than having a roommate that had an explanation for his strange behavior. Or, Kahlil allowed, perhaps John might be thinking of him as a friend now.

Their route back to the house took them past the bodega two blocks away. “Are we still on for dinner tonight?” Kahlil asked. “I can’t remember if there was anything we needed to pick up.”

“I’m up for it if you are,” John said. “I think we have everything except for the adobo sauce. Can we run in and grab it? And anything else you want, of course.”

“Absolutely. Wouldn’t want to forget the adobo sauce,” Kahlil smiled as he tripped over the name of the unfamiliar ingredient. He whistled for Rousma and she trotted back from the half-block distance that had grown between them. Kahlil knew the owner of the bodega from their frequent stops there, but he didn’t try to push his luck bringing Rousma and her damp paws into the store. “Stay right here, okay?” he asked as she sat primly next to the swinging glass door. Her only response was to pant at him, tongue lolling.

John and Kahlil pushed through the door and into the relative warmth of the little shop. The smells of coffee and fresh produce wafted past as the door swung shut. “Ok, so what does this stuff look like?” Kahlil asked.

“I usually buy a small glass jar of it. It’s with the other sauces. This way,” John said, taking the lead down the cramped aisle to the far left of the store.

Kahlil followed John down the aisle, but couldn’t help his gaze wandering to the shelves as they passed them. It seemed like each time he stopped here there were things that he noticed for the first time. There were fuzzy brown coconuts stacked in the center of the produce table, surrounded by a spread of tiny oranges. “Have you ever eaten a coconut?” he asked John idly as they walked.

“I have. Not my favorite thing in the world, to be honest,” John admitted as he stopped halfway down the sauce aisle. His eyebrows knit together as he studied the jars and cans in front of him on the shelves. 

Kahlil’s eyes swept over the myriad of items with their colorful labels and the price tags that accompanied each section of shelf. The abundance never seemed to lose its fascination. How many corner stores in how many cities across Nayeshi were filled to the brim with hundreds, or possibly thousands, of coconuts and oranges and jars of sauce? It was dizzying to consider, especially when he thought about how much bigger Nayeshi was than Basawar. 

The sauces didn’t hold the same appeal as the brightly colored drinks that were placed on the next shelf, and Kahlil’s attention was quickly stolen away by bottles of grapefruit soda and nectarine juice boxes. He snatched a small box sporting a bright yellow fruit labeled “Mango” and turned back to John. “Would you like one of these?” He held out his hand to show off his find.

John glanced up from the two jars he held in his hand and raised an eyebrow. “A juice box?” An amused grin lit up his face. “No thanks. You enjoy.”

Kahlil looked curiously at the jars that John had chosen. “Is that the sauce?” he asked. It was a dark color, so deeply red that it looked almost black.

“Yeah. I can’t decide between spicy and extra spicy,” John admitted with a chuckle. 

“Get both,” Kahlil encouraged. “You like extra spicy, don’t you?” They had cooked together before and Kahlil had noted the hot sauce that John added to his own dishes after they had split up the food.

“I do,” John laughed. “But we can get mild or medium for you if you prefer.”

“No way,” Kahlil said. “I’m nearly starting to build up a tolerance. You can’t let me off the hook that easily. We have to get the spicy, at least.” Kahlil recalled the strangely pleasurable burn of the Texas chili that John had taught him how to make last month. The heat had built up eventually, but the first few bites had tasted incredible.

“Alright,” John agreed, putting both jars in the basket they’d picked up at the front of the store. “Want anything else?”

Kahlil smiled at the question, and the fact that he could say yes and have almost anything he liked. He wanted to try everything, to know what each brightly colored bottle of soda tasted like. For now, he held up his juice box. “Just this,” he said. “Oh, and maybe a cake for Rousma.” She had come to expect the little pastries that Kahlil would bring back for her whenever he made a stop here. He grabbed one of the crinkly plastic packages. This one had two bright yellow, squishy-looking cakes.

John took the cake and juice box from Kahlil and put them both in the basket. “My treat,” he said as he started for the cashier. 

“Wait, John,” Kahlil protested, squeezing down the narrow aisle to follow. “You don’t have to do that,” he said when they both stopped in front of the counter. “I just got paid last week, you don’t have to buy all the groceries.”

John set the basket on the counter and raised an eyebrow. “Two jars of sauce, a juice box, and a packet of twinkies? I don’t think all this will break the bank. You’re a cheap date.”

Kahlil felt his eyes widen and willed himself not to blush. “Oh, um--well, thank you,” he stammered. He fiddled with a display of chewing gum rather than look at John and try to detect in his face whether he had meant it as a joke or not when he called Kahlil his date.

“You’re welcome,” John said, helping the teen cashier by pulling all their items out of their basket and placing them onto the glass counter. 

After the cashier rang up their items and placed them into a small plastic bag, John paid and handed the bag to Kahlil. Steeling themselves for the cold, they pushed back out through the door to meet Rousma, who had mostly stayed put. She left off sniffing around the side of the building and came over to meet them. 

“Someone is leaving chicken bones on the sidewalk,” she said as she approached.

“Hey, quiet,” Kahlil admonished, glancing around to see if anyone had noticed. Luckily, there weren’t many out braving the cold on a weekday afternoon. “You can talk when we’re home,” he added, with a pang of guilt. There were so many dangers for Rousma here, especially when she was still so unfamiliar with Nayeshi and its strange rules and technologies.

Together, the three made their way back to their house. The walk went quickly and quietly, with Kahlil distracted once again by the memory of John calling him his date. Kahlil shook his head to clear the distracting thoughts. It was just a silly turn-of-phrase; there was no reason to get caught up in analyzing whatever John had meant, because the mostly likely answer was that he’d meant nothing special at all.

Even after their walk, Rousma wasn’t ready to come inside. When they reached the house she bounded over to the gate that would let her into the fenced area in the back. Blowing on his own chilled fingers, Kahlil crossed the yard to let her though. Rousma never seemed to tire of being outside, even in winter. “I guess I’ll have to save this for later,” he said to Rousma, fishing the cake from the bag and waving it in front of her. She responded with only a sloppy lick of his hand, before heading toward the bushes where she liked to hunt for birds.

John had already unlocked the front door and gone inside while Kahlil had been busy with the gate. Kahlil followed, closing the door tightly against the cold and shedding his coat just inside the entry. The warmth and familiar smells all rushed over him at once and he smiled. How strange, that this house had become so deeply associated with  _ home _ to him now. Unlacing and kicking off his boots, Kahlil padded in stocking feet back through the house to the kitchen and set the grocery bag on the counter. John was standing across the room with his back to Kahlil, but the smell of coffee brewing suggested what he had in mind. Kahlil sat at the table and fiddled with his juice, finally finding the little foil tab and ripping it off. Taking a tiny sip, he nearly moaned out loud. The flavor was overwhelming, like biting into the sweetest summer apple.

“John, thank you,” he said, staring at the juice carton in his hand. How could this little, unassuming box hold something that tasted so good? And why wasn’t everyone buying them? “This is amazing.”

“The juice box?” John turned and leaned against the counter. A wry smile rested on his lips. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it so much.”

“It’s unbelievable. Better than orange juice, I think.” Kahlil thought John would probably understand the gravity of that, since he must have noticed the rate that Kahlil went through the orange juice containers in the fridge. “I left the sauce over there, by the way,” he added, pointing to the bag on the counter.

“Ah, thanks.” John stepped over and retrieved the jars, depositing the grocery bag into a drawer where they kept a stash of them for reuse. “Let me have my coffee and then we can get started on dinner. Do you want some or are you happy with your juice?”

“I’ll have coffee,” Kahlil said, watching John move with quiet assurance around the kitchen. “I’m going to save the rest of this. It’s too good to drink all at once.”

John nodded and took out two mugs from the cabinet above the coffee maker. For a moment, the two of them existed in silence while the  _ drip, drip, drip  _ of the coffee pouring into the pot filled up the space with its calming sound. The scent should have reminded Kahlil of work, but coffee had always reminded him of John. He had many memories of coming home at odd hours and smelling the telltale scent as he entered the kitchen to find John slouched over a table full of textbooks and research papers, mug in hand. 

Once the coffee had been brewed enough to fill both mugs, John brought them over to the table and settled into the chair across from Kahlil. Most of the pink flush brought out by the cold had faded, but Kahlil couldn’t keep himself from noticing how the remaining color brought a liveliness to John’s features. Kahlil breathed in deeply over his mug and took a tentative sip. The heat felt wonderful, warming him faster than the cozy kitchen alone could do.

“So tell me again what we’re making,” he said, mostly just to hear John explain it in his soft, patient voice. He thought that he if wanted to, John would make a wonderful teacher. 

“Enchiladas,” John answered, holding his coffee mug in the air below his chin. “Beef, if that’s alright.”

Kahlil had long ago lost the sense of novelty that eating beef had brought. It was so common here in Nayeshi that it was nearly unavoidable. Still, novel or not, it tasted delicious. “That sounds great. And an enchilada is from Mexico?”

“I think?” John put his mug down. “Yes. Mexico.”

“Excellent,” Kahlil said. He loved Mexican food. “How long are you off on your winter break?” he asked, wondering how many more evenings they would have together before John’s school schedule got busy again.

“Until the middle of January. I’ve got another few weeks off, thankfully.” John seemed relieved to have the time off. Kahlil thought about weeks of uninterrupted time with John around and smiled.

“Are you planning any winter camping trips this year?” he asked, and nearly grimaced as the words slipped out of his mouth. Ever since admitting that he had followed John into the woods on his camping trips, Kahlil hated reminding John of the times when he had spied on his privacy. 

“I’m not sure yet,” John answered, a strange reminiscent look ghosting over his face. For months, John had avoided the mountain and Kahlil wondered if it had to do with the stones. “My lab partner checked the runoff levels after the Jeep accident and sort of just kept doing it out of habit even after I got the Jeep fixed. I don’t really have as much reason to go up there.”

Kahlil frowned and took another sip of his coffee. Memories of John’s other camping trips came to him, and he couldn’t avoid the twinge of regret that something--whether it was the stones or the shattering of John’s illusion of privacy--had taken away that refuge. John was so connected with the natural world; Kahlil felt certain that their walks in the park weren’t providing John with the same sense of peace and contentment that Kahlil had sensed on his face as he had watched John from Gray Space during all those trips up into the wild mountain terrain.

“You know, I’ve never really done any traveling. I was thinking about taking Rousma to see the ocean. I don’t think it’s too far, and maybe, um, if you wanted we could all go together.” Kahlil finished and promptly gulped at his coffee, forcing himself to stop babbling.

John put down his mug after a long sip and surrounded the curve of it with his long-fingered hands. “That would be nice. It’s been ages since I’ve been to the beach. It’ll be cold, but beautiful.”

Kahlil smiled and reached behind his neck to absently rub at the base of his braid. He marveled briefly at how swiftly and easily John had accepted his invitation. It had been that way more often than not lately. If Kahlil invited John to the park, or joined him in front of the television when the baseball game was on, or offered to make him coffee while he studied, John usually accepted with easy grace and a smile. So different from the distance and all the lies that had separated them just six months ago.

Kahlil thought about driving to the beach with John. They had never taken a trip together before, but he imagined that sitting in the passenger seat of the Jeep and watching John’s hands confidently controlling the vehicle would never lose its appeal. In fact, several hours of John’s company and uninterrupted time to watch him sounded altogether appealing. “The cold will probably keep the crowds away though,” Kahlil said. “Maybe we’ll have the beach to ourselves.”

John smiled then--a soft thing just at the corners of his lips. “I’d like that.” 

Kahlil felt a warm blush creeping up his neck and took another sip of coffee to distract himself. In the comfortable quiet that followed, Kahlil wondered for the thousandth time just what John was thinking. Even after years of careful observation and vigilance, when it came to John’s feelings toward him and their friendship, Kahlil felt like he might as well still be watching from the soundless, colorless distance of Gray Space. John disarmed him, in so many ways. His unexpected acceptance of Kahlil’s presence in his life, his kindness toward Rousma, the confident grace with which he moved his long frame, and even his hidden talents in the kitchen, all caught Kahlil off-guard and kept him on his toes. It likely should not have surprised him that his Rifter would have a strong pull over him, but Kahlil could admit to himself, tentatively and  with a shiver, that there was more between them than a blood-forged bond. Something personal, that had nothing to do with holy rites and everything to do with the way that he sometimes noticed John smiling at him when he glanced in John’s direction.

Kahlil looked down to see his coffee mug empty. He started to push his chair back from the table. “Are you done with yours too?” he asked John as he rose.

“Oh, yeah. Thanks,” John said, pushing his mug toward Kahlil. “I guess we should start the enchiladas.”

“Sure, I’m ready when you are,” Kahlil said, reaching out for John’s empty mug. As he curled his fingers around the smooth ceramic surface, he felt them brush briefly against John’s withdrawing hand. It was only the tiniest glancing touch, but Kahlil felt the familiar spark and pull of electricity that surged between them, the bond rising up to remind him that this was sacred flesh. His breath caught for just a moment in a tiny gasp. It was quiet, but he thought that he saw John tense ever so slightly at the sound. An intense and sudden need overwhelmed Kahlil, and this time he didn’t think it had anything to do with their bond. He wanted to reach out with his other hand, stop John’s own from withdrawing, run his fingers along the smooth skin at the inside of his wrist. Kahlil felt his left arm jerk, but stopped himself before he did anything even more obvious.

Kahlil took John’s mug and his own and crossed hastily to the kitchen sink, where he began to rinse them with warm water. It was a moment of reprieve, with his back turned to John and something small and inconsequential to focus on. He let his breath out in a slow, silent sigh. This wasn’t the first time thoughts of John--of reaching out to him, or of running his hand down the small of his back, or a hundred other small and affectionate touches--had risen unbidden in his mind. They seemed to happen more often now, so much so that Kahlil was growing used to that ache in his chest that followed whenever he clamped down on that want inside himself.

He did want it; Kahlil could admit at least that much to himself now. Perhaps he had wanted something for years, but there was so much complicated history wrapped up there that he hadn’t even let himself consider it. Now, with freedom for him and John both, the feelings were becoming more persistent and much harder to push beneath the excuse of duty.

So there were moments, or sometimes longer than moments, where he would think of John and his thoughts would linger on questions like: what would those blonde curls feel like between his fingers? Or, what would it take to make John gasp and what would that gasp sound like? But John had never shown him anything other than solid and dependable friendship, and Kahlil would die before he breached John’s trust again after they had overcome so much just to get to this point. Kahlil tamped down his feelings tightly before turning back to John. “So, where do we even start? For enchiladas.” He thought that sounded appropriately friendly and not like he’d just spent a private moment imagining the texture of John’s skin.

John had already begun taking out dishes and prepping bowls along with the ingredients from the pantry and fridge. “Come over here. I’ll show you,” he said with sparkling blue eyes and a charming smile. 

Like a compass pulled toward true north, Kahlil went.  


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an extra-long, extra-special chapter: the Christmas Special! Woo! And to celebrate we have something SUPER exciting to share:
> 
> The wonderful, talented, and kind [YumeNouveau](http://yumenouveau.tumblr.com/) created beautiful artwork to accompany this chapter! Since it's spoiler-y, I'm going to include it at the end but make sure you check it out and tell her how amazing it is!

John leaned over his knees, tying up the laces of worn winter boots. It was a perfunctory task he’d performed countless times in his life, but he felt even the smallest things differently now; the texture of the laces rasped against the pads of his fingers and the aged brush of leather combined to assault his senses. Everything was that way now. It had been happening steadily for months--this awakening to the deeper experiences of the world around him. It all smelled too strong, tasted too rich, and felt like too _much_ against his body. Kyle would say it was because he was the Rifter. John didn’t know if that was the reason, but it had been unnerving him. He couldn’t even eat a meal anymore without a heady sensual ordeal.

He finished with the laces and stood up from the edge of his futon. When he passed from his room into the living room, he couldn’t help but brush the tiny Christmas tree Laurie had bought for him a week ago, sending ornaments and tinsel tinkling with the movement. He scowled at the plastic thing. Who would want a fake tree in their house? Truly, he’d wanted to throw the thing in the recycling bin, but she’d insisted he needed _something_ festive in the house. And, if he was being honest with himself, Kyle’s reaction to it had been worth the commercial, yuletide invasion.

Kyle’s fascination with everything never ceased to amaze him. John hadn’t been able to help the smile that spread on his face when he saw Kyle’s eyes light up over the tacky Dollar Tree ornaments and the ugly string of fluffy silver tinsel. When John asked him if he wanted to help decorate the tree, Kyle had readily accepted and handled each piece of frippery with the utmost care and reverence. In the end, John let him do most of it, if only because he seemed to enjoy the task so dearly. They’d ended up having a long conversation about the origin of the tradition of Christmas trees in Nayeshi. _Earth._ On _Earth._

John pinched the bridge of his nose. Kyle’s name for his world was beginning to seep into his own conversations and thoughts and it felt...strange. He put the Christmas tree out of his mind and strode into the kitchen. Kyle had stacked up the mail before he’d gone out to work at the coffee shop. John rifled through the white bill envelopes and stilled when an obnoxiously candy cane red envelope was revealed beneath the stack. Everything within him stopped. John simply stared at the return address for a long time.

It was from his sister.

If the stamped figure of a snowman was any indication, it was a Christmas card.

From his _sister._ Mary.

John could smell her perfume on the paper. His fingers almost shook as he lifted the stationary to his face and took in her familiar curling scrawl. Within the confines of his chest, his heart hammered and he felt like he was expanding within his skin. Why would she break the utter silence of the last year and a half with this? A swell of emotion whirled widdershins beneath the surface of himself and John couldn’t identify what it was he felt. A mixture of more than one thing, perhaps. He rested the envelope on the splintery surface of the kitchen table and just let it sink in for a moment.

Then, he lifted it again, tore open the back, and slipped out the glittery monstrosity that passed for a Christmas card in Mary’s mind. An eyebrow rose at the revealed scene on the front face of the card. Santa knelt in worshipful obeisance at the manger of Jesus, surrounded by gaudy wise men, and stable animals. Mary and Joseph and the baby all had glittery haloes around their heads that steadily shed sparkling flakes onto his kitchen table. John rolled his eyes and opened the card.

It wasn’t even signed.

No note, no picture of his sister with her husband and daughter, just...nothing.

John let the card fall from his hands and he pressed both his palms onto the table, leaning heavily for a minute. That whirl of emotions stilled until his insides became placid as glass. His eyes kept flicking to the card until he took it and threw it unceremoniously into the trash bin beneath the sink. The cabinet door fell closed with a soft click and John tried to let that be it--to shut down anything else in his reaction to Mary’s strangely aggressive olive branch.

But the glass shattered and his stomach roiled with unease. He had been doing just fine this Christmas so far. He’d been able to walk past decorated shop fronts and see smiling families out together and _not_ immediately think of the fact that his own parents and siblings had cast him out of their lives. And now? Now...this would be the Christmas Mary sent him an empty card as if to further prove the point that he wasn’t worth anything to them anymore. John mopped at his face with a hand and scowled when he felt several grains of glitter stick to his skin.

“Damn it,” he growled.

While he was at the sink washing the offending sparkles from his hand, the landline rang from the hallway. John almost balked at the bad timing of the tones echoing off the walls. Just great. Someone decided to call when his mood had completely tanked. He thought about letting it go to the answering machine, but rolled his eyes at the thought of having to deal with it later. Scowling, he ripped the hand towel from its hook on the side of the upper cabinet and dried his hands hastily. He’d counted three rings by the time he was able to sprint to the phone and nearly rip it from its cradle.

“Hello?” he said, breathlessly.

“Hey, Toffee.” John heard Laurie’s voice chirp through the handset. “How’s it going over there, stranger?”

He bit back what he really wanted to say and settled on, “Fine. You?”

“Great!” she exclaimed. “So great! Bill and I are baking cookies for tomorrow. Well, I’m baking cookies and Bill is entertaining me by tossing chocolate chips into his mouth. Are you hanging out with Kyle again?”

“He’s at work. Gets paid more for working on Christmas Eve or something,” John replied.

“Aww, so wait, you’re all alone? You need to get into the Christmas spirit!” Laurie’s voice was colored with gentle teasing. “It’s a good thing I’m talking to you right now, or you’d probably just stay home alone tomorrow too. Which brings me to my whole reason for calling. Did you want to come over tomorrow? Bill and I are going to have an absolute mountain of cookies--sans chocolate chips of course, because Bill is eating them all.” John could hear a muffled thud that sounded like Laurie might have thrown something at Bill. “Anyway, we’d love to see you, and you can bring your sexy alien roommate too if he’s available.”

John’s heart stuttered a bit at “sexy alien roommate” and he cursed himself. Then, “Laurie, I don’t know…”

“Oh, come on, Toffee,” Laurie wheedled. “You don’t have any other plans, do you? It’s going to be so completely chill. We’ll just sit around the living room, drink eggnog, blast Christmas music, possibly have mistletoe hanging absolutely everywhere. Stuff like that.” The smirk was audible in her voice.

He sighed and leaned against the wall. “Okay. I’ll ask Kyle if he wants to come, but I’ll be there at least.”

“Oh, perfect,” Laurie squealed. “Come over any time. We’ll be here all day. Well, after we do the obligation breakfast with my family, so I guess don’t come over for breakfast. But any time after that. And you absolutely must talk Kyle into coming too. What else would he do, sit around the house with his dog all day?” Laurie laughed.

John didn’t admit to himself just how much he _did_ want Kyle to come with him, nor did he dwell on it. “Thanks, Laurie,” was what he settled on. “It’s nice of you guys to include us.”

“Of course, Toffee. I like you way more than my actual family. And someone has to eat all of these awful chocolate chip-less cookies. So, I guess we’ll see you tomorrow!”

“Yeah. See you then,” he said.

The soft hum of the call clicked off on Laurie’s end and John replaced the phone in its cradle. He sighed again. At least _someone_ wanted to spend time with him on Christmas. John pushed off the wall and stood for a moment thinking. He’d need to ask Kyle tonight if he wanted to catch him before he took another work shift and John didn’t want to spring it on him when he came in exhausted later. There was nothing for it. He needed to go to the coffee shop and ask him there.

He crossed back into the living room where Rousma was curled up in front of the radiator asleep. It was a shame to disturb her, but he didn’t want her to wake up and wonder where he had gone. John crouched down and rubbed a hand across the scruffy fur on her back. After a soft snuff, she stirred and lifted her eyelids to peer up at him.

“I’m running to the coffee shop to ask Kyle something. Do you want anything while I’m out?” he asked.

She gave an enormous yawn and shook her head before resting her snout between her paws and closing her eyes again. It was rare for her not to be interesting in talking, but John figured her rest must be too good to miss out on. He envied her easy napping. His knees popped when he stood back up.

Cold air seeped through the cracks around the front door, chilling the foyer as John retrieved his long coat from the small closet by the entrance. It had snowed the evening before and white reflections peeked through the warped glass of the windows framing the doorway. As he was closing the closet door, he thought better of it and plucked one of his beanies from the top shelf. Once his coat was on and he’d secured the hat, he checked his keys and opened the door. A blast of glacial wind hit him square in the face and he shivered.

Walking the few blocks to the coffee shop didn’t give his body enough time to manufacture much heat and John’s skin erupted in gooseflesh beneath his clothing. The cold was good for one thing. It kept him from thinking too much about Mary’s card or about the way his heart tripped over itself at the thought of seeing Kyle in a few moments. Already, he anticipated that cereal box grin lighting up when he walked in the door. He’d already admitted to himself that he was noticing Kyle and his desire for attachment had only grown since then. It unnerved him. John had been too busy with school to have any serious commitments with anyone in the past and heading into his final semester in the spring meant he was too busy for one _now_ . And yet, he always found time to spend with Kyle. Whether it was their walks in the park, weekly movie nights, or cooking sessions...John had somehow let Kyle’s presence slip into his life without any resistance. If someone on the outside saw their activity, they might call it _dating_.

John flushed at the thought and sped up. The coffee shop was in sight now, the illuminated _It’s Bean a While_ sign above the door flashing with the addition of Christmas twinkle lights around its outer edges. He couldn’t see Kyle through the cheery painted windows, but just knowing he was there sent a flutter stirring in his chest. John stopped and gathered his wits about him.

_We’re_ not _dating,_ he reminded himself. _We’re just friends. Doing friendly things together. Besides, there’s no guarantee Kyle would want you anyway._

After the borderline ruthless way John had treated Kyle in the beginning, he was surprised they were even friends at all.

John’s thoughts were going into a decidedly gloomy direction and that wouldn’t do. Mustering himself, he shook his shoulders back, lifted his head, and crossed the street to the shop. The scent of coffee beans and peppermint already flavored the air outside the door. Pushing it open, John was blasted by the familiar odors and sounds. Christmas music blared over the speaker system and the commercially produced seasonal spirit grated on his nerves. There was a strange blend of comfort from the coffee and discomfort from the overly-decorated environment, but John pushed it down when his eyes lifted and he saw Kyle.

He was laughing and chatting happily with a teenage customer at the counter. His raven hair was pulled back in a tight braid that trailed down his back from beneath a sky blue shop cap. The ordinary wisps and strands that came loose on most days were absent and John wondered if Kyle oiled his hair for work to keep it tame. John’s fingers twitched. The blue apron hugged Kyle’s lean midsection and John had no doubt of the muscle that lay beneath the enshrouding fabric.

He blinked.

He was _checking him out._ God.

John looked away and forced the heat from his cheeks as best he could. Then he strode over to the line that had formed at the ordering counter. He was two people behind the girl Kyle was taking an order from. It was fascinating to see Kyle interact with people so naturally. Not for the first time, John thought Kyle would have been even more loquacious and extroverted if his crazy head priest hadn’t scarred his face like he had. It seemed to make him self conscious a lot of the time. But here in the shop, it seemed Kyle had overcome his hangups and looked perfectly at ease in his role as a barista. It brought a smile to John’s face.

After the next few customers had moved down to the other end of the counter to await their drinks and pastries, Kyle’s eyes landed on John. Those irises sparkled with recognition and Kyle’s full lips rounded in surprise.

“John,” Kyle exclaimed. “I can’t believe I didn’t see you in line. What are you doing here?”

John smirked and arched a brow. “How did you miss me? I’m like two feet taller than those girls that were in front of me.”

Kyle smiled widely. “At least two feet. I guess I was distracted. We’ve been so busy today. I’ve made so many peppermint lattes that I think my hands will have a permanent minty fragrance.”

John laughed and tried not to imagine what Kyle’s pepperminty hands could get up to with the proper encouragement. “I actually came because Laurie invited us over for Christmas tomorrow. Can we talk for a minute? Or do I need to wait a while. I don’t mind either way.”

“Sure,” Kyle said, glancing around behind the counter. “Let me ask Sam to cover the counter. I think he went to get more cups.”

“Alright. I’ll wait for you at the booth in the back,” John told him.

“Do you want anything to drink?” Kyle’s killer smile was back, his eyes twinkling. “I can get you an extra shot of espresso, no charge. Perks of knowing someone behind the counter.”

“Sure, thanks. Why don’t you make me something extremely indulgent and sugary. It’s Christmas, right?” John reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled up twenty dollar bill. It was all he had on him. “Here. Keep the rest for a tip. I hear the barista with the tattoos is the best.”

Kyle’s eyes narrowed at John, but his lips were quirked in a playful smile. After a moment he shook his head and smiled more broadly. “I don’t know who told you that,” he said. “Just wait out here for a minute, I should be right out.” With that he slipped behind the partition wall that presumably led to wherever his coworker was searching for cups.

John gave a nod and turned around to find a queue of about six people behind him. They really _were_ busy tonight. He felt somewhat bad for stealing Kyle’s attention away from the customers for even a moment. After managing an apologetic expression to the middle-aged woman directly behind him, he eased his tall body around the line and headed for the booth in the back he favored when he used to come here for studying with groups. Just as soon as he’d sat down Kyle popped back into view along with a coworker with a stack of cups in their arms. John smiled softly as he watched Kyle move gracefully from behind the counter and stride towards him. And this time, it was much harder to ignore that little jolt in his heart at the sight.

Kyle set a mug in front of John with a flourish and slid into the booth across from him. “I hope you like it,” he said as he retied his apron strings. “It’s a caramel pecan latte. Better than peppermint, in my opinion.”

John lifted the mug to his face and inhaled the cluster of scents that mingled together to remind him oddly of Thanksgiving. He took a tentative sip and was floored by the burst of flavors on his tongue. They coalesced beautifully into a pleasant aftertaste. “It’s good,” he said. “Thanks.”

“Of course,” Kyle accepted. “So, what was this you mentioned about Laurie?”

“Right,” John put the mug back down onto the table. “She invited both of us over for Christmas tomorrow. Sometime after breakfast. Do you already have plans? Or, if you just want to stay in and rest, that’s fine, too. But...if you’re free, I think it would be fun. You know, for you to come, I mean.”

Kyle’s eyes had widened as John spoke until the fringes of black tattoo were nearly obscured entirely. “They invited us over for Christmas?” Kyle paused for a moment in thought, his gaze drifting. He blinked then and looked back to John. “I’ve never gone to a Christmas celebration. They always seemed like fun.”

“Well, I’m sure with Laurie and Bill it may be less fun and more exasperating on several levels, but I think all in all we’d have a good time,” John put in, then sipped from his mug to have something to do. For some reason, his nerves had flared and he suddenly _very_ intensely wanted Kyle to come with him. Would he say yes?

“Isn’t there some obligation to bring a gift?” Kyle asked, with a hint of worry in his voice. “I can try to get something tonight after work maybe.”

John put the mug down and waved his hands. “Hey, no, no, no. Don’t worry about gifts. Laurie, Bill, and I never exchange anything unless we play some stupid White Elephant game and she didn’t say anything about it this time. It’s completely fine to just bring yourself. That’s all they expect. She hoped you would come, but there’s no pressure at all.”

“I’ll come,” he said, his voice slightly raspy. He looked pleased at John’s reassurances, his smile returning as John spoke. He coughed into his shirt sleeve, but he was still smiling when he looked back up at John.

A watery rim caught the light in Kyle’s eyes and John’s heart clenched. It always seemed like Kyle was so surprised by the merest hints of kindness. John had caught snippets about Kyle’s hard past, and again he was struck by the murderous thought that the people who had made him suffer so deserved a grim fate. Particularly the person who’d scarred him so terribly. He tried to brush the sudden rage away and forced a gentle smile to match Kyle’s own. John wanted to reach out to touch him, to offer comfort, but he slipped his hands around the mug instead.

“I hoped you would say yes,” he admitted softly before he thought better of it.

The smile on Kyle’s face melted away into a look of surprised disbelief. He didn’t say anything for a moment, but then a clatter and sudden bang from behind the counter seemed to break his reverie. He shook his head and smiled, chagrined, back at John. “I’m really glad you came all the way here to invite me. Now I have something to look forward to for the rest of my shift.”

“I’m glad you’re looking forward to it,” John said, shaking off the feelings coursing through him. “So am I. Feel free to sleep in tomorrow. We can head over whenever you’re ready.”

Kyle closed his eyes and leaned back against the booth for a moment, taking a deep breath. “Sleep,” he said, opening his eyes again to look at John, “is going to feel so good after tonight. I didn’t know this many people would be out shopping today.”

“Christmas Eve is a big night for last minute shoppers,” John told him. “My parents always used to…” then trailed off. Mary’s empty card really had his family popping up in his mind. He’d hoped Kyle’s presence would have eradicated any trace of them, but thinking of the Christmas Eve shopping rush had reminded him of all the years his mother and father would slip out into the night to finish up their purchasing for the family just hours before Christmas.

“John?” Kyle prompted, picking up on the sudden change in mood. “Is something bothering you?”

He forced a smile. “It’s nothing,” he said. “Just some family stuff. Don’t worry about it.” John drank from his mug and tried to quell the sudden burst of pain he felt in his chest.

“Family stuff?” Kyle asked, not hiding the surprise back. “Did something happen?”

John propped his chin into his palm and stared out the window at the softly falling snow. “My sister sent me a Christmas card today. She didn’t write anything in it. I guess it sort of upset me.”

“John,” Kyle breathed, the word coming out like a prayer. “I’m so sorry…” He trailed off with a slight shake of his head.

With a shrug, John tried unsuccessfully to push away the sudden sense of overwhelm he felt. “It’s not a big deal. I’m sure it was her way of extending an offer of some sort of peace. Mary never was very cognizant of how passive aggressive she can be.”

“Maybe,” Kyle agreed, his voice tentative. He glanced back to the line of customers waiting at the counter. “I wish I could walk home with you.”

“It’s okay.” John followed the line of Kyle’s sight. “I should probably let you get back to work before there’s a riot.” He started to slide out of the booth. “I’ll see you when you get home, Kyle.”

“Yeah.” Kyle nodded, looking nonplussed.

John stood up and waited awkwardly for something else to say. He didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to go home to the empty house and the presence of the card burning a hole in his trash bin. But there was nothing to do but head out. “Thanks, Kyle. For the latte and for coming tomorrow.”

He was rewarded with one of Kyle’s broad smiles. “You’re welcome. Thanks for inviting me to my first Christmas party.”

John laughed at that. “You’ll have to thank Laurie. I’m just the messenger.”

He gave Kyle a nod and strode for the door. With every foot of distance that grew between them, John felt a pang in his heart. What was wrong with him? Why did he want to stay and keep Kyle all to himself? He knew he was flushed without the shaded reflection in the glass shop door just ahead of him. Rolling his eyes, he pushed the door open and stepped out into the frigid night.

***

 

“Toffee, you made it,” Laurie’s pleased voice rang out brightly in the cold morning air when she opened the door. “Hey Kyle,” she added, spotting Kahlil standing on the step below John. Opening the door wider and turning around, she shouted back into the apartment. “Bill! Our _company_ has arrived!” She smiled conspiratorially back at John and Kahlil.

A clatter from within the apartment, accompanied by an _Ow!_ rang out just before Bill bounded into view. “Coming, my flower!” He had a gaudy green and red apron in the shape of a Christmas tree strapped over his front with bits of flour stuck to his cheek and neck.

“Come on in,” Laurie said, pushing Bill gently aside. “We’re so glad you came.”

John shook off the snow from his boots onto the mat in front of the door and slipped inside past Laurie and Bill. “Thanks for having us,” he said.

“Yes,” Kahlil added, shuffling in behind John and closing the door. “Thank you for inviting me.” He had spent more time with Laurie and Bill since their official first meeting six months ago, but he wasn’t entirely sure how formal he should be on a Nayeshi holy day. Even if John and his friends weren’t particularly devout.

“It’s great that you agreed to join us,” Laurie said as she hung up their coats and scarves. “I absolutely couldn’t stand the idea of you two sitting around your house all day with only that little plastic tree to even suggest that it’s Christmas; I really couldn’t.”

Kahlil noticed that Laurie’s decorating was much more extensive than a small, artificial tree. She and Bill had festooned every flat surface with garlands and twinkle lights and proudly displayed a collection of dolls all dressed like elves in a workshop that spanned across their living room floor. There was even a working model train winding its way through the scene.

John had his hands on his hips, taking it all in with a smirk. “Well, when you compare our two decorating situations, it’s no secret who wins the award for holiday spirit. I wouldn’t have decorated at all if it weren’t for you anyway,” he said to Laurie.

Laurie shook her head ruefully. “I hardly know what to do with him,” she said, looking at Kahlil.

Kahlil glanced between them and smiled. “I like our tree,” he said, hoping it sounded neutral enough. The last thing he wanted was to declare a side in the Christmas decorating debate.

Bill chuckled. “This is _all_ her,” he gestured to the elves and twinkle lights, “I’m just her pack horse, taking it all out of storage every year.”

“Oh please,” Laurie scoffed. “I seem to remember someone tossing Rudolph dish towels into our shopping basket just two days ago.”

Blue eyes widened in horror and Bill clutched his chest. “Woman! Don’t tell the whole world my darkest secrets! I’m trying to put up a dignified front here.”

“Is that why you’re wearing the world’s gaudiest apron?” Laurie asked in a saccharine tone, batting her eyelashes innocently. She looked over to John and then Kahlil and laughed. “Anyway, ignore us. We’ve just been holed up in here too long with the oven running. Speaking of which, would anyone like a cookie?” She hurried over to the small table that was piled with plates of cookies, bowls of snacks, and empty glasses waiting next to a bottle of champagne.

John moved towards the table, eying all the offerings with soft eyes. “You guys didn’t have to go to any trouble for us, Laurie. Thanks for this.”

Bill waved a hand. “Hey, man, it’s no trouble at all. We’re just happy you’re here to stop us before we start growing spatulas out of our hands. _That’s_ how much we’ve been baking. For real.”

With a chuckle, John picked up a pale cookie and bit into it. “These are pretty good,” he admitted.

Kahlil followed John to the table and peered down at the plate. Some of the cookies were painted with brightly colored icing: little tree shapes colored green with golden sprinkles and red and white striped candy canes. He picked up a tree and tried it. “Oh yeah,” he agreed, turning to Laurie and Bill. “These are great.”

Laurie beamed. “Why don’t you two go into the living room and get comfy. I can grab drinks. Does everyone want champagne, or do I need to take orders?”

“Champagne is good for me,” John said, smiling. “Kyle do you want some?”

“Sure,” Kahlil agreed, hoping he sounded as casual as John. He had never had champagne before, but everyone else seemed interested in drinking it.

He and John moved toward the living room together, finding a seat on the slightly-battered looking sofa. Kahlil watched the toy train as it wound around the elves’ workshop.

John must have noticed his fascination. “I would say this isn’t normal for the average household when it comes to Christmas decorations, but America seems to go big or go home in everything -- Christmas included.”

Kahlil smiled at John. He had picked up on some of the Nayeshi Christmas traditions over the years, and he knew how little regard John had for most of it. “I kind of enjoy it,” he admitted. “I like how cozy everyone tries to get. It’s a good way to keep the chilly weather from getting you down.”

“Yeah? I guess that makes sense,” John conceded. “I’m glad it doesn’t freak you out at least.”

Kahlil laughed, then tilted his head at John. “Does it freak you out?”

A slight frown picked at the edges of John’s lips. “Only sometimes.”

“How about right now?” Kahlil asked, noticing once again how difficult it could be to read John or try to guess what he was thinking.

John shook his head. “I’m fine. Laurie and Bill are just having fun. It makes me happy to see them happy,” he said.

Kahlil smiled. He believed that was true. John cared a lot about his friends and their happiness, sometimes more than he seemed to care about his own. He wondered, briefly, what it would take to make John smile in this moment.

“Here you go, guys,” Laurie said as she swept into the room with three champagne flutes. She set them on the coffee table in front of the sofa and passed them to John and Kahlil, keeping the last one for herself. “Shall we toast?”

“Sure,” John said. “Is Bill joining us?”

Laurie looked over her shoulder, her pale eyebrows knitting in a frown. “Yeah, he’s coming,” she decided, turning back. “I think he’s just finishing something up in there. We made homemade pasta.”

“I can toast to _that_ ,” John said. “Are we sampling this pasta later?”

“Cheers,” Laurie agreed, holding up her glass. Kahlil followed suit. “We’ll be sampling it soon if it hasn’t cooked itself into a gluey lump. Or if Bill hasn’t eaten all of it while it cooked.” She laughed and settled down onto the floor beside the coffee table, resting her arm on its surface. “So, how is everything going? I haven’t seen either of you in absolutely ages.”

John shrugged. “On a break from school before the madness starts next semester. Enjoying the time off.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Laurie said. “How about you, Kyle? How’s the job going?”

Kahlil looked up at Laurie. He had been watching the bubbles in the champagne float to the surface of the liquid and pop with a splash. “My job? Oh, it’s great. John just stopped by for a visit last night.” He looked over to John and smiled.

“I did, it’s true,” John said, sipping at his champagne. “He’s a natural with the customers.”

Kahlil felt himself flush at John’s compliment. He took a sip of champagne to cool the warmth rising in his cheeks, but the alcohol seemed to warm him even further. The taste was light and sweet as the bubbles slid across his tongue. “This is good,” he said.

Laurie laughed. “So modest, Kyle. I’m sure you’re great with customers.”

John opened his mouth to say something more, but Bill interrupted from the kitchen with a hearty, “Lunch is served!”

Laurie jumped up from her cross-legged position on the floor and called back to Bill, “Get the plates out, hun!” She turned back to John and Kahlil. “We’ll grab plates and then eat here if that’s ok. The dining table is now an officially designated cookie shelf.”

John waved the hand holding the flute. “That's completely fine, Laurie. Can I help with anything?”

“Just follow me into the kitchen and Bill will load up your plate,” Laurie said and began to walk away.

“After you,” Kahlil motioned to John. “You know where she went, right?”

“Yeah, here, just follow me.” John crossed the living room floor, careful to avoid knocking over elves going about their Christmasy business, and back through a narrow hallway.

The kitchen was bright and warm when they got there, Laurie and Bill both bustling back and forth across the small space. Kahlil knew a lot more about cooking now that he and John had fallen into the habit of making dinner together once in a while, but John’s organized approach was nothing like the chaos and mess that Laurie and Bill’s kitchen seemed to embody. They wove around each other, adding spices to pots, grating a block of cheese, and wiping up splatters of red marinara sauce that dotted the stove. Despite all of the frenzied activity, Kahlil thought they both looked quite content.

Laurie turned to them as she finished wringing out her dish towel and her eyes lit up. “Oh Bill, look where John is standing.”

Bill whipped around from where he stood at the stove ladling sauce over their homemade pasta strands. “What?” His eyes found John, then, “ _Oh..._ My, my.”

John stiffened. “What?”

“Wow Toffee, it’s not everyday I recognize a plant and you don’t.” Laurie was grinning mischievously.

John’s eyes narrowed and then widened. Instinctively, he looked up above his head and blanched. “Oh, good grief. Laurie don’t tease us.”

Kahlil followed John’s gaze upward and noticed a spray of waxy green leaves peppered with little white berries had been hung in the doorway above them. “What is it?” he asked quietly, turning to John.

A flush crept across John’s cheeks. He cleared his throat. “It’s mistletoe,” was all he said.

Kahlil wasn’t sure what to make of John’s sudden discomfort, or what meaning the plant held. He shrugged, wondering if there was something he was supposed to know.

“Well you know what to do, boys,” Laurie said, placing a hand on her cocked hip and gesturing to them with the other. “House rules.”

John brought his hand to his face. If anything, he had grown even redder in the last few seconds. “Laurie…” His tone was a warning one.

“Oh, come on, John. It’s just a bit of silliness,” Bill drawled, making another plate and sending them a sly smile. “Kyle, you understand, right? Besides, Laurie won’t stop once she’s latched onto something. You know that.”

Kahlil shook his head, looking from Bill back to John. John’s grip on the champagne flute had tightened, the tension whitening his knuckles just slightly. “I don’t understand at all, actually,” Kahlil said without taking his eyes from John.

John moved his hand away from his face and grit out, “They want us to kiss. It’s tradition. Whenever you’re standing with another person under the mistletoe, you kiss.”

“Tradition, Toffee,” Laurie added, emphasizing his own word back to him.

Kahlil felt mildly breathless at John’s mention of kissing, and suddenly understood. John was so private about his feelings, his affections. Even if there were some part of him that wouldn’t mind following with the tradition, he would never, _never_ do it at the cajoling of his friends. Not that there was necessarily any part of John that wanted to kiss, Kahlil reminded himself.

“Oh, well that’s easily solved,” Kahlil said, hoping to alleviate the tension he could feel brewing in John. He took a few steps forward, sliding past John and brushing the arm of his sweater as he did so. “I’m not standing under it now.”

Laurie laughed and flicked a drop of water from the sink onto Kahlil. “Whatever, technicality. We’ll get you two under there again.”

John didn’t say anything to that and simply strode over to grab a plate from Bill. He set down his drained champagne flute onto the counter and took another plate. “Here, Kyle. Let’s go eat before these nutcases embarrass us again.”

Kahlil took the plate from John, uncertain whether the tension really had dissipated. He glanced back up to the mistletoe plant where it hung above John’s retreating form and thought about what John would have done if he’d stayed under it with him. Would John have kissed him to appease his friends? Kahlil didn’t necessarily like the thought of that, but the idea of John’s lips brushing his skin sent a sudden and familiar wave of heat through him. He looked side to side, almost guiltily, to see if either Laurie or Bill had noticed, but they had both gone back to serving and preparing the rest of the meal. Kahlil hurried after John.

 

***

 

The evening improved after the mistletoe incident. Laurie and Bill both seemed willing to stop teasing John, at least for one day. After they had all eaten their fill of homemade noodles and cookies, they played cards around the coffee table until it devolved into raucous conversation. They discussed some of the latest movies that John and Kahlil had been watching, and debated over which movie musical was the best. Laurie entertained them with humorous stories of her recurring dream of being chased by skeletons and Kahlil told them about some of the more outlandish customers he encountered at his job. It had been warm and bright and John had been smiling for hours. Kahlil thought that Christmas seemed like a pretty good idea. Better still when you had friends to spend the day with.

“We’re so glad you both came,” Laurie gushed as she walked them to the door. “Kyle, we hardly get to see you now that you’re working and John is monopolizing all the rest of your free time. We missed you!”

“Yeah, you should come around more,” Bill agreed.

“You definitely should,” Laurie continued. “Oh! Or stop by and visit me at work. My booth was so busy during the holiday shopping rush, but things will probably slow down now. I can give you a reading, no charge.”

Kahlil remembered the last time Laurie had tried to give him a reading. “Sure, or John and I could meet you for lunch on your break some time. I work a lot of evening hours, so I’m usually free in the afternoons.”

Laurie smiled, her eyes narrowing with amusement. “You two are inseparable already.” Kahlil felt his face warm slightly, realizing how casually he had just committed John to a lunch date.

“I could make that work if we did it before school picks back up,” John put in.

Kahlil smiled at John’s easy agreement as he shrugged on his coat. “That works for me.”

“Perfect,” Laurie said. “Just come by any day. I’m there Wednesday through Sunday. Sorry babe, I know you’ll probably be working.” She directed the last comment to Bill.

He sighed theatrically. “I suppose I can leave you alone with these two without worrying constantly for your safety. Just behave.” He finished with a wink.

“I won’t behave, and you can’t make me,” Laurie teased, wrinkling her nose at Bill’s comments. “Anyway,” she said, turning back to John, “I’m sure we’ll see you around. Don’t spend your entire break studying in the lab either. The whole point it to take a break from studying.”

“Yeah, yeah,” John waved a gloved hand. “I hear you. Thanks for having us over, guys. It was a lot of fun.”

“Yes, thank you,” Kahlil put in as he stepped out onto the street. “It was great.”

“It was,” Laurie said. “You two have a fun evening. Merry Christmas!”

When the door closed behind John, the sense of sudden darkness and quiet slipped over Kahlil almost as thoroughly as if he had gone into Gray Space. John’s blue eyes and golden curls were the only things that seemed to have any color and Kahlil felt himself riveted for a moment by the sight.

“Home?” he asked, his voice coming out in a raw croak. He cleared his throat.

John was smiling. “Yeah. Let’s go home.”

The walk from Laurie and Bill’s apartment back to Indian Street wasn’t far, but it took them through the deserted little shopping street housing the coffee shop that Kahlil worked at. All of the storefronts were dark, but the trees lining the street were lit with Christmas lights and red bows and Kahlil could see as well as if it were daylight. He looked over to John and was surprised to find their eyes meeting. “I had a great time tonight,” Kahlil said. “I wasn’t sure what to expect, but everything was so nice.”

John smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly. “I’m really glad you did. Thanks for coming with me.”

They continued walking, their breath frosting visible white clouds around their heads. Kahlil kept his hands stuffed deep in the pockets of his heavy wool coat. _With me_ , John had said. Kahlil turned the words over in his mind, hearing John’s voice repeating them to the rhythm of their slow walk home. Everything seemed suddenly and surprisingly quiet around them. No cars drove by. No other late-night revelers shared the sidewalk with them. Even the sound of their boots on the salted sidewalk seemed to dampen. Kahlil gazed around at the Christmas ghost world, and looked back to John. “It’s almost like the whole thing is here just for us.”

Just then, John stopped walking. Kahlil glanced back, “John?”

Blue eyes flicked up, locking with his. Something passed behind those eyes--something unreadable. And before Kahlil could really register what had happened, John had stepped into his space. Close. He could feel the warmth from John’s body emanating softly from beneath his coat.

“Did you want me to kiss you?” John asked softly. “When we were under the mistletoe?”

It felt a little bit like the breath had been knocked from his lungs. Of all the things John could have been pondering on their walk, of all the things he could have asked him about, none would have set his heart racing like this. He gave himself a moment to draw in a breath, knowing that John would be patient. “I could tell you were uncomfortable with the whole thing,” he finally said. “I know you hate it when they get on your case about… personal stuff.” Kahlil could feel himself blushing deeply at his own euphemism.

John brought his gloved hand up to Kahlil’s face and stroked his cheekbone with a thumb. “You didn't answer my question.”

John’s eyes were locked on him, and even through the leather of John’s glove Kahlil could feel the bright, electric vibrations of the bond. He restrained a sudden urge to lean into the touch, but didn’t step away, didn’t widen the nearly-negligible distance between them. “It wasn’t really a fair question,” he said, and although he hadn’t meant them to, the words escaped on a breathy whisper.

John smiled as he angled his face and closed his eyes. It happened like a brush of quiet wind against him. Kahlil felt John’s soft lips meet his own and everything--even time itself--stopped for just a moment. It was a silken press, almost chaste, but it lit everything within like the deepest burning fire.

At some point Kahlil’s own eyes had closed, so he didn’t see John pull back from the kiss. He only felt the cold air sweep back into the gap between them and he opened his eyes to see John still looking back at him, still smiling. He tried to say something, worked his throat, but no words came. He could still feel the memory of that feather-light tickle on his lips, and only the resolve of ten years of discipline kept him from leaning back across that gap and kissing John in return.

“Merry Christmas, Kyle,” John whispered.

 

-

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, art credit goes to the fabulous [YumeNouveau](http://yumenouveau.tumblr.com/)! Thank you so much, Yume, for the absolutely outstanding accompaniment for this special chapter. <3


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has stuck with us this far! We appreciate every kudo and comment and appreciate all the support! Enjoy!

The next morning, Kahlil woke with a gasp. He had dreamed about being trapped, watching from Gray Space as life went on without him, unable to find a way out. Wandering the house, he searched for an exit, or some way to tell John and Rousma where he had gone. He had seen John standing with his back to him at the kitchen sink washing dishes, and when he turned around, Kahlil saw that he had matching scars running along either side of his face, still red and inflamed as Kahlil’s had been for years while they healed. Kahlil had woken then, forced himself free from whatever his mind was trying to torment him with. He sat up on the cot, breathed deeply, and buried his face in his hands.

“Ravishan,” Rousma’s voice was soft and tentative where it broke the silence. He looked up to see her lying in her new bed near the radiator that ran along the wall under the window. It must have been early; the sun was still weak and gray where it managed to filter through the curtains.

“I’m ok,” he sighed, forcing himself to relax the tension in his shoulders. “Just a weird dream.”

Rousma ignored that, and padded over to his cot, jumping up to sit on his feet. She put her front paws on his knees and licked his face. “Why is you dreaming sadness? Bad party with the loud friends?” Rousma had started called Laurie and Bill John’s “loud friends” after they had come over to cheer on the Cubs in their playoff series.

“No, we had a great time with Laurie and Bill. I’m sorry that you couldn’t come, but Bill said as soon as he’s around a dog he starts sneezing uncontrollably. I did bring home a meatball for you though.”

Rousma gave a wag of her tail at the mention of the meatball, but didn’t say anything for a moment. She looked at Kahlil searchingly, cocking her head. “Was you fighting with John?” she finally asked.

“No!” The word escaped Kahlil so quickly he hardly realized he’d said it. He buried his face back into his hands and groaned. “Not a fight,” he said, his voice muffled.

Rousma didn’t say anything, just waited him out, knowing well enough that he would elaborate eventually. He gathered his memories together, running through the visit, the mistletoe, the walk, John’s question, John’s caress, the  _ kiss _ . That had been real. He remembered every detail. He raised his eyes up to look back at Rousma, trying vainly to tamp down on the sly smile that was spreading across his face. “We kissed,” he said. “On the walk home last night.”

Rousma grinned and stood up on the cot. Her tail was wagging in earnest as she forced herself closer to Kahlil and finally rested her head on his shoulder, her doggy version of a hug. “No bad dreams then,” she said, solemnly. “You is free now.” 

He had said something like that to her the first morning they had arrived in Nayeshi. He ran a hand gently along her back. “Thanks, little sister.”

She nudged her nose into his ear, wet and tickling. He laughed and pushed her gently down. “You should be going to talk with him,” Rousma said. “Make him tasty coffee so he knows how you feel.”

Kahlil laughed and stretched, stepping out of the cot. “Is that how I should show him?”

Rousma didn’t deign to respond to the teasing until she had jumped delicately down from the cot, walked across the room, and curled back up in her own bed. Kahlil watched her with amusement as he pulled on a hoodie over his long-sleeved shirt. Even with the radiator running, the high-ceilinged old house was drafty. 

“You is not having good success with telling him how you feel before now,” Rousma said, once she was finally settled. “I can sniff old feelings from new feelings.”

Kahlil frowned, wondering at Rousma’s words. Maybe he had been ignoring feelings for John. Of course, he knew that he cared about John and that he was devoted to him. He had been keeping him safe for years, after all. There was more to his feelings though, if he was being honest with himself, and there had been for a long time. John took up so much of Kahlil’s life, so it hadn’t been entirely obvious when that constant preoccupation had morphed from duty, into care, and then further into desire.

“Old feelings, huh?” Kahlil said to Rousma as he crossed over to his door. “You may be right.” Rousma looked smug as she gazed at him, nose resting on delicately folded paws. “Want breakfast?”

“Not now,” Rousma yawned. “I sleeps while you have your talkings. Unless you is losing your courage.”

Kahlil frowned at her, then shook his head and smiled. He recognized a goad when he heard one.

John was already awake when Kahlil came downstairs. He could smell the coffee and hear the quiet sounds of a cup set on the table and papers rustling. Rounding the partition that divided the living room from the kitchen, Kahlil saw John sitting at the table, reading from a thick book that he held in one hand while the other absently lifted his coffee mug. He looked just a little bit disheveled, still dressed in sweatpants and his blonde curls mussed. The sight sent Kahlil’s heart beating just a slight bit faster.

“Good morning,” he said, crossing past John to the coffee pot.

John looked up from his book, a sleepy smile on his face. “Morning.” He took another sip of coffee. “Sleep well?”

Kahlil considered the nightmare that had jolted him out of sleep, but it was the last thing he wanted to talk about with John now. He shrugged. “Not bad. You?”

John used a spare napkin to mark his place in his book and closed it before saying, “I...actually didn’t sleep that well.”

Kahlil finished pouring himself a coffee, then crossed over to the table. He lingered for a moment, uncertain suddenly if John wanted company. He’d said he hadn’t slept well, and Kahlil couldn’t help but wonder if it had anything to do with their walk home. “Is that why you’re up studying so early?” he finally asked. “I can leave you alone if you need to concentrate.”

“Oh this? No, I’m not studying,” John laughed softly. “Just some light reading.” He lifted the book to reveal the title,  _ Wild Herbs in the Pacific Northwest.  _

Kahlil wrinkled his nose, but smiled at John’s notion of light reading. “Mind if I sit with you then?” he asked.

“Stay,” John said, extended a hand to the empty chair--not across from him, but beside him at the table.

“Thanks.” Setting his coffee down on the table, Kahlil pulled the chair out and sank into it. There was a moment’s pause after he sat, a silence that stretched just slightly longer than natural. John had always been comfortable with silence, Kahlil knew, but that had never been the case for him. He sipped gingerly at his steaming coffee, desperate for something to do while he thought of exactly how to address what had happened last night.

After a few moments that felt like an eternity to Kahlil, he decided that he had to say something even if it turned out entirely wrong. “About last night,” he started, “I just wanted you to know that the mistletoe thing came out all wrong. It wasn’t that I didn’t want-- well I mean, I didn’t at that exact moment, but I didn’t answer your question because even though the answer was no, I mean-- the answer was actually yes. Except just not right then. But later, yeah.” Kahlil forced himself to stop talking, recognizing that it was turning into a babble.

A warm hand pressed against his own where it rested on the table’s surface. John’s long fingers and big palm almost swallowed up Kahlil’s. “It’s alright, Kyle.” After another moment, when the heat from their skins had mingled together, John asked, “Is this okay?”

Kahlil stared down at their hands, marveling at the contact of John’s skin with his own. He looked up and met John’s gaze, swallowing down his nervousness. “Yes,” he said, forcing confidence into his voice. At John’s smile, Kahlil felt his nerves begin to settle. “Is it… okay for you?”

The smile remained and if anything, grew wider. “It is.” John gave Kyle’s hand a light squeeze, but didn’t remove it. Instead, he paused and then slowly slid their fingers together until they were linked. Then he took a sip of coffee, nonchalant about the whole thing.

Kahlil’s mind reeled at John’s response, suddenly aware of what exactly it meant to be sitting here with their fingers intertwined. Between the kiss last night and then this, John was coming on to him. There was genuine care and affection in his gestures and his expressions, and a spark in his eyes that teased at desire. Kahlil felt his heart rate quicken. Even after admitting to himself his feelings for John, he hadn’t really expected--hadn’t dreamed--that they might be reciprocated. It was something that seemed important, suddenly, that John know. 

He forced himself to speak slowly, considering his words. “It’s more than okay, actually. Maybe I should have said something sooner, but I was so worried about ruining the place we’ve managed to get to lately. But it seems wrong to not tell you that it’s something I’ve wanted...for a while.” Kahlil kept his gaze on John, trying to gauge his reaction.

A pleasant, pink tone colored John’s cheeks. “I’ve never really had anything like this to be honest,” he finally admitted. “I’m so scared of messing up.”

Kahlil couldn’t keep the grin from his face. John looked so open and so real, bathed in hazy, early-morning sunbeams and still tousled from sleep. His confession brought a wave of affection riding over Kahlil, reminding him of all the reasons why he cared about John in the first place. “Well, if we’re both scared, maybe it cancels it out,” he mused. “Something about double negatives.”

John laughed. “Maybe so.” He averted his gaze, face more flushed than it was before, and stared into his coffee mug. Heaving a long sigh he said,  “I seem to have run out.” After squeezing Kyle’s hand again, he let go and went to pour himself more from the pot. 

Kahlil watched John as he crossed the kitchen, taken as always with his powerful figure and his surprisingly light step. It felt wrong to lose that physical contact, but he smiled and mentally chided himself. John would be back in a moment, and they had everywhere to go from here.

 

***

 

The hours after their morning coffee were spent in quiet conversation and domesticity. John didn’t grab Kyle’s hand again, but he wanted to and judging from the occasional twitch of Kyle’s fingers against the wood grains of the table, he thought about it, too. Eventually, they parted from the kitchen, John to do laundry and Kyle to take Rousma for a walk in the park. They might have gone together, but in truth, John needed some headspace to figure these new developments out. 

He'd kissed Kyle. Just...gone for it under the pale Christmas moon like it was the most natural thing… And it had been natural. Like a happy sigh or the beat of a strong heart. John stood at the edge of the dryer with a partially folded towel and raised his fingers to his lips. He could still feel Kyle’s warmth there even hours later. Could still feel the tingling against his palm when he’d pressed his fingers against Kyle’s hand and linked their fingers. John had never done this exactly. Never had a slow progression from friendship into something  _ else.  _ All of his past relationships had been intense flings of convenience and mutual need, but not emotion. Never that. This was different and he wanted to treat it gently. 

He finished folding the towel and placed it in the basket with the others. As he went for another, the phone rang from the front of the house. Sighing, he bounded through the narrow hallways and snatched it out of the cradle on the fifth ring. 

“Hello?”

“John!” It was Thomas, his lab partner. 

He frowned. “Is everything alright with our site?”

Thomas laughed, “Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine, John. Listen, a bunch of us are going out to The Underground for drinks and dancing tonight. Want to come?”

John blinked. Thomas had always been the wilder of their academic duo and often invited John to things like this, but John typically said no. Sometimes he wondered why Thomas even continued to try at this point. But something kept him from outright refusing. 

Kyle. 

If Thomas hadn’t asked, the image of swaying together on a dimly lit club floor wouldn’t have even crossed John’s mind, but now he couldn’t get the image out of his head. Based on all Kyle had told him about his home in Basawar, people like them were killed for their differing sexuality. Suddenly, John wanted very much for Kyle to experience the sense of public freedom of expression he had always been denied. But would  _ Kyle  _ want that? Would he say yes if John asked?

“Er...John? You there?” Thomas prompted.

“Yes, sorry,” John said. “Can I bring a friend if I meet you guys?”

Thomas chuckled. “Of course! Anyone special I should know about?”

“I guess you’ll have to wait and see.”

“So you’ll come?” Thomas chimed. 

“Maybe. Where is this place?”

Thomas sighed, but gave John the basic directions, then, “I hope you’ll come. You could use a good time.”

John rolled his eyes. “Yeah, Thomas. I’ll see you around.”

“You’ll see me  _ later _ ,” Thomas corrected.

“Bye, Thomas.”

John hung up and rushed to the kitchen table to write down the directions to The Underground. As he finished the last street name, the front door opened. The clicking of Rousma’s nails against the wooden floor announced her arrival and John smiled, knowing that Kyle would accompany her into the house. 

“Back here, Kyle!” John called, not really sure why he felt he should announce his location in the house, but hoping Kyle would come to see him regardless. 

“Hey,” Kyle greeted as he came into the kitchen. His cheeks were ruddy from the cold and he was in the process of stripping his gloves off and rubbing his hands together. “It’s really gotten a lot colder out there since yesterday. You were probably right to stay inside today.”

John was struck by how vibrant and alive Kyle looked with the color in his face and those bright black eyes. He could feel the cold emanating off Kyle’s coat and stood up from where he’d been stooped over the table. “Want me to take your coat?”

Kyle slipped out of the heavy wool coat and handed it to John, before collapsing into a kitchen chair. “Thank you,” he said, sighing as he closed his eyes and leaned his head against the back of the seat. Rousma, who must have been waiting patiently behind him in the doorway, crossed the kitchen to where her water sat in a dish on the floor and began to drink. 

John skipped down the hall to hang up Kyle’s coat in the foyer closet and returned to find Kyle looking at the paper on the table with the directions on it. He looked curiously up at John. “What’s The Underground?” he asked, eyebrow quirked.

John blanched. He hadn’t prepared himself to ask about the club yet. If Kyle said no, would he be disappointed? “So, about that…” he rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s a club. My lab partner called while you were out with Rousma and asked if I wanted to go with him and some friends tonight.” He paused and gathered his courage. “I was sort of thinking--if you wanted to--maybe we could go together?”

“Together?” Kyle queried. “Together like a date?”

He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks. “I mean...we  _ have  _ kissed, haven’t we?”

Kyle smiled and dropped his gaze down to the table, brushing absently at non-existent crumbs. “Yeah, we definitely have. And I’d like to go to a club with you.” He didn’t look up, but the color on his cheeks deepened a shade.

“Then it’s a date,” John said, marveling at that fact. He had a date. WIth Kyle. Oh how things had changed in so little time. 

John could have fallen over with the force of Kyle’s return smile. It was so unguarded and happy--so  _ radiant _ . And John preened a bit, knowing he had put it there. It felt good to make Kyle happy. He deserved as much of that feeling as he could get after all he’d been through in Basawar. 

“Pick you up at eight?” John teased. 

“I’ll be ready,” Kyle answered, picking up on John’s playful tone.

John tried not to think too much about what Kyle might wear or what dancing with him might be like. He did have hours to go before they got there and there was still that pile of laundry to fold and other chores to be done. But in that moment, the only thing John wanted to do was stand in the kitchen staring at Kyle and marveling at his simple pleasure at the prospect of a date. If John was very honest with himself, he had never been more excited for anything in his life. 

 

***

 

John couldn’t take his eyes off of Kyle. They stood off to the side of the dance floor, leaning against tall tables with the group’s drinks watching the others have a good time in the sea of mingling bodies. But John didn’t mind being a wallflower if it meant he got to be one with Kyle. He looked...ethereal beneath the low, colored lights. Shades of purple and blue caressed smooth skin and ink-black hair in changeable waves. The wine-colored shirt Kyle wore beneath a gray overshirt morphed into various heliotrope tones with the changing lights above. Black jeans clad long, strong legs. John picked up his drink and looked away. It was growing warm in the crowded space.

John wanted to dance, but was too nervous to ask. It wasn’t like he really knew what to do anyway. He was more familiar with the motions of distance hiking and walking than fluid sways, but Kyle’s eyes were enchanted with the scene before him--a low-grade fascination building behind his expression.  _ Kyle  _ wanted to dance. John just knew it. Did he have the courage to find out? 

“Do you like your drink?” John asked, leaning in so Kyle would hear him over the din of the music and voices. 

Kyle glanced down into the cocktail glass and carefully swirled the liquid with a twist of his hand. “It’s strong,” he said, raising the glass to his lips and pulling another sip. “I like it though. It’s warming me up.”

John looked down at his bourbon--nearly gone--and assessed if he wanted to just drain the rest, throw caution to the wind, and take Kyle’s hand. The amber liquid held no answers. He frowned and flicked his eyes to the left. Kyle was watching him a soft warmth in his eyes. 

“Do you ever do that?” Kyle leaned backward, resting his elbows onto the tall table and looked out at the dance floor. He looked back at John after a moment, his eyes bright and searching.

John swallowed another sip of bourbon, letting the sweet burn ease down his throat before saying, “It’s been a long time. I’m not the greatest dancer.” He could remember one other time he came with a date to a club--it had been in his undergrad years and the man had been a graduate student. He was a worse dancer than John was. It eased his tension and he looked back to Kyle, figuring he’d regret it if he didn’t ask, “Do you want to dance?”

Kyle took another sip of his drink, larger this time, and coughed. “I never have before,” he said, but he was smiling. “Do you know what to do?”

John laughed, “I have a vague idea. If we’re going to make fools of ourselves, let’s at least do it together.”

Kyle nodded and abandoned his empty glass after tossing back the rest of the drink. “Together sounds good.” He held out a hand, tentatively. John noticed that he twitched once, nearly pulling away, but something stopped him and he steadied it.

After letting out a low breath, John took the offered hand. Kyle’s palm was warm and callused, and it sent a buzzing sensation throughout John’s arm and into his chest. He gathered his mettle and tugged Kyle with him towards the mass of people writhing together mere feet away. At first it seemed like there was no place for them to inject themselves and John settled on a space of empty floor on the very edge, but within seconds they were enveloped and absorbed by the teeming, dancing organism and cocooned in the swarm. 

But somehow, with Kyle’s hand in his, all seemed quiet now. John marveled at what was no doubt the bond acting on their connection. It calmed him and he raised his other hand to settle on Kyle’s waist. The muscles sliding beneath the fabric stirred John’s imagination. He felt heat creep up his neck. Too much, too soon? 

“Is this okay?” he asked, whispering in Kyle’s ear.

Kyle nodded, and John didn’t think he imagined the shiver that he felt run up Kyle’s back beneath his hand.

This all felt new and John wasn’t sure how far he would take things. But Kyle hadn’t run away yet, so John let his hands lightly settle on Kyle’s body as the music blared overhead and all around them people shared physical intimacies. Neither of them were good dancers compared to the others and somehow that eased John’s fears that Kyle wouldn’t have a good time. In the end, they ended up in a close embrace as they eased side to side. John was fascinated by Kyle’s shy smile as he brought his arms up over John’s shoulders as he must have seen others do in the crowd. 

And yet it wasn’t enough suddenly. John wanted to crush his body to Kyle’s; to kiss him again. But he stopped himself and let his hands caress Kyle’s strong back, let himself imagine the feel of bare skin. Taking a chance, he pressed his forehead to Kyle’s and breathed him in. It had been forever since he’d gotten this close to someone. And he’d never taken things so carefully slow before. Never worried he would lose something precious. 

But Kyle  _ was  _ precious. And John wanted to show him tenderness.

“Thank you for coming with me,” John said softly--afraid Kyle wouldn’t hear through the sounds around them.

Kyle leaned in closer as John spoke, bringing his ear nearly to John’s lips. He twisted his head at John’s words and smiled. “I should be thanking you, I think,” he said. “You have no idea…” he trailed off with a bemused shake of his head.

John tightened his arms, pulled Kyle closer. They were chest to chest now and John marveled at how tall Kyle truly was given that their eyes could meet when he leaned down a bit. That overwhelming urge to get closer wasn’t satisfied. 

“I want to kiss you again,” John admitted on a shaky breath.

Without a word, Kyle closed the distance between them, pressing upward and bringing his lips to meet John’s.

John’s eyes widened in surprise and then closed. Kyle’s arms around his shoulders tightened and one of those long fingered hands curled in John’s hair. It surprised him and John took it as invitation to get even closer. He angled his head, deepening the kiss, finally conforming his body to Kyle’s contours. The heat of them spread through John’s body and his heart raced in the cage of his ribs. And still the kiss continued. John loved it. Despite what Kyle had said about not being with anyone for years, he could kiss like he had a wealth of experience.

John felt dizzy.

Their breathing had gone heavy and desperate. Hands wandered. At some point, Kyle’s mouth had opened to him and John explored happily. A pleasant haze had settled all around them and John wondered how much time passed. 

Too soon, Kyle withdrew and John followed for a second, yearning for  _ more _ . “Kyle…”

Kyle was smiling shyly again, his eyes wide and dark, but dancing with colored sparks as the flashing lights swept over them. Carefully, he rested his head on John’s shoulder, just for a moment. He broke away as the thumping music continued, but the feeling of that brief embrace lingered.

“This is real, right?” Kyle asked. “It’s hard to tell in here.”

John laughed softly. “Yeah. It’s all real.”  _ You’re real _ . The song changed to an even more upbeat rhythm--one that, judging from the crowd, seemed good for sensuous grinding and groping. John blushed and pulled Kyle close enough to shout, “You want to get back to our drinks? Or keep dancing?”

Kyle seemed to consider the options for a moment, and John felt Kyle’s hand tighten against his back. “We can take a break,” he said finally. “It’s getting crowded out here.” As he drew away, his fingers dragged over the fabric of John’s sleeve.

Shivers raked up John’s arm and he mourned the loss of the dance floor even as he was glad of the relieving cooler air as soon as they wound their way out of the congested sea of dancers. Their table was mostly as they’d left it, but their empty drinks had been cleared away and Thomas now stood there knocking back the rest of a cloudy pink cocktail. 

“John! I didn’t get to meet your  _ friend _ , earlier.” Thomas thrust out a hand in Kyle’s direction. “Thomas Gates. You are?”

“Kyle Harris.” Kyle spoke confidently, returning Thomas’s handshake. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Thomas smiled. “Cool tattoos.”

Drawing his hand back, Kyle flipped it and glanced at the black designs swirled over his skin. “Thanks,” he said, looking back at Thomas with a smile. “And thank you for the invitation.”

Thomas waved a hand and said, “No problem. It’s nice to see John actually out on the town, having a good time. How did you two meet?”

John smirked. “We’re roommates, actually.”

“Roommates, eh?” Thomas grinned. “Well, you certainly looked like  _ more-than _ roommates out there.”

John flushed, but didn’t flinch. He glanced to Kyle who was just as red in the face as he was. Then he made a decision. Reaching out, he set his hand on Kyle’s shoulder. “We just started dating recently.”

“Congratulations.” Thomas raised his empty cocktail glass. When he seemed to realize it was empty, he frowned. “I’m off to get another drink. Care to join?”

They’d only been there an hour or so and Kyle seemed to be enjoying himself. Why not? “Sure. You want anything, Kyle?”

“Sure,” Kyle said, moving to stand closer to John. “I liked the Manhattan.”

John squeezed his shoulder and trailed his fingers down to grasp Kyle’s hand. “It’s on me.” He tugged him towards the bar where Thomas already stood ordering a cosmo.

After ordering, Thomas gave them a wink, said, “Don’t get up to any mischief, you two,” then wandered off into the crowd. 

John rolled his eyes and finished ordering their drinks. The bartender passed over another Manhattan and bourbon to them before rushing to fill other orders. They made their way back to their table and settled into a comfortable arrangement of leaning against it with their drinks. John sipped at the bourbon and found himself entirely content in the loud, over stimulating environment. It must have been Kyle’s presence. He glanced his way and smiled at the care with which Kyle approached his Manhattan--as if it were an elixir of the gods and deserved to be savored.

“You really do like it,” John commented.

“They put fruit in it,” Kyle commented, fishing his cherry out by the stem. He spent a moment nibbling on it, his full lips parting distractingly around the red flesh. He looked back up at John after he had popped the final bite into his mouth, his eyes wide. “The flavor is incredible,” he said.

John barely heard him around the blood rushing through his ears at the sight of the cherry disappearing in such a sensual way. He drained the rest of his bourbon in one go and instantly regretted it because of the burn it created in his belly. “You want to dance again? Once you finish that?” 

“I absolutely want to dance again,” Kyle said firmly. He was looking at John still, his eyes roving up and down John’s body more than they ever had before. “Can we? How long can we stay?”

John flushed at the obvious interest Kyle was exhibiting toward him. “We can stay as long as you like,” he said, his heartbeat speeding up in his chest.

Kyle took a deep sip of his drink, shuddering just the slightest bit at the burn as it went down. “That’s amazing. This is amazing.” He swung his hand out to indicate the club around them, but he didn’t stop looking at John. 

John laughed and stepped closer, into Kyle’s space. The slight sheen of sweat gleaming on Kyle’s skin sent that strange, delectable scent of his into the air and John wondered what sort of cologne Kyle wore. Or was it just him? John lifted a hand and pushed a stray lock of hair that had escaped the long black braid over and behind Kyle’s ear. “Let’s go then.” He grabbed Kyle’s hand and tugged him towards the dance floor. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heaps of thank-yous to everyone for reading and leaving comments and kudos! It’s so cool to hear that you’re enjoying our story!

Kahlil blinked and looked up into the darkness of the clouded, winter sky outside the building. It had been dark in the club, and his eyes were still adjusted well enough that he could see the gray outlines of the clouds.

“It almost seems warmer than when we got here,” he commented, turning his head to look at John. He didn’t have to move much. John had been at his side nearly the entire time they had been at the club.

“It does,” John agreed. His cheeks were flushed from the dancing and his smile was warm.

Kahlil turned completely so that he was facing John. They stood close enough that their shared body heat was driving away the winter chill. The adrenaline and the alcohol hadn’t quite worn off yet, and it was making Kahlil feel a kind of reckless excitement that he couldn’t remember experiencing in years. “We shouldn’t go home. Not yet,” he said, letting the energy take him where it would.

John laughed as he fished his keys from his pocket. Kahlil was amazed at the sureness of his movements. Apparently the dancing had burned off the effects of John’s own drinking. “Where should we go?”

The sound of John’s laugh brought a smile curling across Kahlil’s face. The crowd of people around them, still milling around the doors of the club, waiting for cabs and lighting cigarettes between their cupped palms, all seemed to fade into background noise. Kahlil leaned forward, rising slightly onto his toes to press his lips to John’s again.

He broke the kiss quickly, and looked to John’s face to gauge his reaction. John followed when Kyle drew back, but rather than kiss him again, John enveloped him in a tight embrace. The warmth from his body was overwhelming in the best sort of way.

“I’ll take you anywhere you like,” John said.

“The ocean,” Kahlil whispered, his voice coming out husky and raw. “I’ve never seen it before. Is it too far to drive?” He felt a sudden overwhelming urge to get into John’s car and drive together until they wound up somewhere entirely new.

“It’s not too far. Maybe a few hours,” John said, smiling against Kahlil’s cheek.

Kahlil pulled away slightly, drawing back far enough to see the smile that he could hear in John’s voice. “I don’t have anywhere to be tomorrow,” Kahlil said. “If we go now, we can make it there by dawn.”

John loosened his arms, but didn’t let Kahlil go just yet. “Sounds perfect.”

 

***

 

It was colder along the coast than Kahlil expected. A sharp and insistent wind had begun to blow, whistling past the windows of the Jeep as they pulled off the highway. Through the tree cover along the road, Kahlil had caught glimpses of the moonlight sparkling off of dark water, but now they were pulling into an overlook that opened the view of the ocean more clearly. Even in the deep darkness, Kahlil could sense the vastness of the space. He turned to look at John as he cut the engine.

John had driven the entire way in his usual calm and patient demeanor. Kahlil hadn’t spoken much, feeling uncharacteristically quiet, but he had watched John, noting the intensity that smoldered beneath his thoughtful composure.

“Not much to see yet,” Kahlil said, stifling a yawn into his hand. The sudden quiet rang in his ears as the engine noises died away.

John put a hand on Kahlil’s shoulder and squeezed. “It’ll be a good while before we see much of anything. Want to take a nap? Get at least some semblance of rest? You’ve had a long night.” John’s blue eyes glittered with the reflection from stars providing a small modicum of light through the windshield.

Kahlil’s nerves responded to John’s touch, igniting like tiny fires all along his shoulder. The entire night had been a glorious overload of touch; even his usual looming sense of paranoia in public was no match for the temptation of dancing in John’s arms. Or of kissing him on a crowded dance floor. Kahlil bit his lip, expecting the guilt and the shame to flood in at any second. Looking at John, though, seemed to wash every negative thought away with the waves he could hear splashing somewhere in the darkness.

“You’re the one that did all the driving,” Kahlil said, keeping his tone light. “You should be tired, right?”

“I am a little, actually,” John said, punctuating his point with a yawn. “I’ve got a blanket in the back if we get cold.”

It could be difficult to read John sometimes, but Kahlil had a great deal of practice. He studied John’s face for any hint that he was teasing, but Kahlil saw only earnestness in John’s blue eyes. “Just the one blanket?” he asked, still uncertain. “You wouldn’t mind sharing?”

“I don’t mind,” John assured him. “Let me get it.” John squeezed Kahlil’s shoulder one last time and then got out of the Jeep to head around to the back. The clicking and hiss of the rear door opening echoed through the car. John must have found the blanket quickly, for it was under a minute and the hatch was closing again. John returned with a thick, insulated bundle that he proceeded to untangle into a large heavy sheet that he began to drape across the both of them.

The cold air that rushed in as the door opened reminded Kahlil of the hiss of Gray Space. He smiled, watching John arrange the blanket so that it would cover both of them, even leaning across the center console of the Jeep to tuck it around Kahlil’s right side. Finally finished, John settled back into the driver’s seat. Kahlil felt the warmth settling in around him as their body heat collected under the blanket. Hesitantly, he rested his weight on the console and leaned his head against John’s arm. “Is this okay?” he asked.

“Mm.” John murmured sleepily, leaning his own head atop Kahlil’s.

The long night was catching up with Kahlil, the sudden warmth and comfort drawing him toward sleep. He wiggled a little, trying to get into the most comfortable position without disturbing John. He snaked his hand through the tangle of blankets until it rested on John’s arm. Running down along the length of it, Kahlil found John’s hand and gently closed his fingers around it. Finally, he let his eyes drop closed.

 

***

 

The sun glinting off the side mirror of the Jeep was what finally woke Kahlil. The insistent brightness seemed to sear right through his eyelids, and he stirred regretfully. He had fallen into a surprisingly deep sleep, considering the circumstances. Blinking and pulling a hand from beneath the blanket to shield his eyes, Kahlil looked over to John. The morning light caught the crown of his blonde curls, making them nearly shimmer.

Kahlil had observed John sleeping from Gray Space before, but never like this, with color and sound and the heat of his skin pressing against Kahlil’s shoulder. Even in shadow, John’s face was a beautiful contrast of tan skin, slightly faded now with the winter, and pale pink lips. The soft, thin skin around his eyes looked darker in the shadows, nearly bruised. Kahlil could see a dusting of faint freckles across the bridge of John’s nose, and he longed to lean across and touch them.

He did run his hand over John’s wrist under the blanket. He could feel the tiny, fine hairs that covered the skin and he dragged his thumb back and forth across them. Closing his eyes against the sunlight, he pulled the blanket further up his shoulders and slipped his other hand beneath it. Kahlil found John’s hand and cupped it between his two palms, letting the warmth of the bond flow between them everywhere that their skin touched. He felt John beginning to stir and he squeezed his hand.

“Good morning,” Kahlil said, breaking the silence.

John opened his eyes and blinked. A soft smile settled on his lips and he squeezed Kahlil’s hand in return. “Morning.”

“I’m sorry I woke you up,” Kahlil said, returning John’s smile. He was sorry that he had disturbed that peaceful, rhythmic breathing, but seeing John’s expression was worth it.

John yawned into his free hand and stretched as much as his long frame was able in the cramped driver’s seat. After settling, he stared out the windshield with an odd look on his face. “We missed the sunrise,” he said.

Kahlil followed John’s gaze out the window and suddenly sat up straighter. In the bright glare of the sun’s reflection, he hadn’t even noticed the view that had opened up as the light crept across the sky. The ocean was spread out before them, a small strip of sandy beach that sloped downward toward the insistent lapping tide, and beyond that was flat, endless water as far as Kahlil could see. It looked as immense and abrupt as the Eastern chasm in Basawar, although there was a sense of rightness and belonging to the ocean. It was natural, despite its intimidating size.

“This is amazing,” Kahlil murmured. He turned to look at John and smiled. “Dance clubs, Christmas parties, oceans. You keep taking me to surprisingly wonderful places.”

John laughed softly. “It’s nice to see you happy. You deserve it, Kyle.”

Kahlil wondered about that. Did he deserve to be happy? No one in Basawar spoke of happiness, or even safety or comfort, as something deserved. Some lucky few might stumble upon happiness, or steal it for themselves and keep it closely guarded. Here in Nayeshi though, everyone deserved happiness until they did something to lose the privilege. He tried to wonder what it would have felt like growing up that way, but he quickly gave up and shook his head. There was no changing the past.

“Well, you certainly have a knack for making me happy, John,” he said, finally. “Did you sleep okay all scrunched into that seat?”

As if in answer, John’s neck popped as he stretched and a groan followed. “Well enough, I guess. It will be good to sleep in a real bed tonight, though. You?”

“Actually, I think I did,” Kahlil said, rubbing the back of his own neck in sympathy. “Better than I have in a while.” He felt his face warming, and looked down at his hands. “I think being around you helps.”

John flushed and curled his fingers around Kahlil’s where they were still touching beneath the blanket. “You make me happy, too. I think we’re good together; you and me.”

Kahlil couldn’t have stopped himself from smiling if he’d wanted to, so he didn’t try. He just leaned back against John where he had been when they’d woken, grin still stretched across his face. “Yeah, good,” he agreed. He gazed out at the ocean and felt both of their breaths rising and falling in tandem with the waves.

They watched the ocean for some time, Kahlil picking up on John’s comfortable silence and finding that he didn’t mind it so much. After the sun had crested high enough that the frost was beginning to burn away, Kahlil sat up and stretched in his seat. He turned again to look at John and smiled. “We have to go out and see it up close you know,” he said.

John extended his hand toward the passenger door, “After you,” then proceeded to unbuckle his own seatbelt.

Kahlil pushed the door open and eased out from under the warmth of the blanket, sandy gravel crunching beneath his feet as he stepped out of the Jeep. The air felt heavy despite the cold, mist still clearing in the weak light of the winter sun. Kahlil turned to look toward the water. “I didn’t bring a beach towel,” he said as John climbed out from his side.

John shot him an amused glance and headed for the back of the Jeep. “Well, I shouldn’t say I’m prepared for everything,” he called, “but I do have a regular towel. Just the one, though.” Again the boot opened and closed. John came around the front of the car with a dark blue length of terry cloth.

Kahlil laughed into the cold air, his breath steaming white through the air in front of him. “I’m not sure we’ll actually need any towels today, but I suppose you never know.” He smiled as he took the towel from John and tucked an end of it into his large coat pocket.

Beside him, John tugged his coat tighter about himself and stared off at the expanse of water before them. “Ready?”

Kahlil turned from John to look back out across the choppy gray water. “Let’s go,” he affirmed. They picked their way carefully through the rocky brush that lined the edge of the parking area until they reached the smooth dark sand of the beach. Kahlil had expected the sand to be soft and dry and give way under their feet, but it must have rained recently. It was easy to walk on top of, crumbling just slightly, and they left a shallow but distinctive trail as they crossed.

At the edge of the water it was shallow enough for Kahlil to look down and see the sand below the waves. He bent to pick up a pebble that appeared as the tide dragged out the sand around it. He studied it for a moment as it dried in the palm of his hand, then tossed it as far as he could into the waves. He turned back to John, but he had moved further down the beach. Kahlil saw the wind catch and lift his blonde curls. He smiled and jogged after, slowing only when he had caught up.

“What do you think?” Kahlil asked. “Worth the late night drive?”

“Absolutely,” John said. “It’s a shame it’s so far away or I’d come here all the time.”

“Right,” Kahlil said. “I suppose it is a long way to come.” He thought about how he could be home in less than the time it would take John to walk back to the Jeep, and how he could come to the ocean every morning just to drink his coffee before work if he wished to. Somehow though, the thought of being here without John seemed lonely and too sad to contemplate.

John stood with his eyes closed, his cheeks pinked from the cold and his body still as a stone despite the wind whipping around them. “I can feel it,” he said low. “The water and the tide...it’s like it’s moving through me.” He opened his eyes and glanced to Kahlil. “Is that part of it, do you think? Being the Rifter, I mean.”

Kahlil looked curiously at John. Since their initial talk about Basawar, they hadn’t spoken of the Rifter or John’s nature in over six months. “It could be,” he said slowly. “In Basawar, the Rifter can shake the very foundations of the earth. It might be different here though, more subtle.”

Clothing rustled and John’s knees popped as he crouched down above the sand and pebbles of the shore. He pressed his palm against the damp, packed ground and closed his eyes again. “It’s so strange...Since you told me about everything, I’ve noticed so many little things I’d never thought about before. It’s like...everything is sharper somehow. More intense, but not as if it’s new. It’s more like I just recognize it now.”

Kahlil crouched down beside John, studying the spot where the tips of his fingers met the sand. “If you feel that, then you may have more power here in Nayeshi than we realized,” he said, his voice low. He was suddenly curious and fearful of what would happen if a Rifter really could be unleashed here. Thoughtfully, he looked out across the waves, watched gray clouds begin to gather on the horizon.

“It looks like it might storm again,” Kahlil said, turning back to John. John was still kneeling, his long fingers sunken deep into the sand. His eyes were closed and he seemed suddenly far away from Kahlil. The wind off the water picked up, blowing fine grains of sand against Kahlil’s face and coat. “John?” he prompted, but didn’t get a response. He scrambled around John so that they crouched face to face, feeling panic welling suddenly in his chest. He took both of John’s shoulders in his hands and shook him sharply. “John,” he repeated, firmer this time.

Slowly, as if waking from sleep, John’s eyes fluttered open and his dilated pupils contracted as they focused. The wind around them ceased and all became still again. “Kyle?”

Kahlil sank back into the sand, running a hand through his hair and pulling in a shaky breath. “Stay with me, John,” he said, forcing himself to smile. “Don’t go meditating yourself into a trance or anything.”

John blinked. “It felt...it felt like I went very far away just now.”

Kahlil studied John’s face, sobered. It might have been a coincidence that the wind picked up just as John began to immerse his thoughts in the world around him, but it frightened Kahlil. The last thing he wanted for Nayeshi or for John was a sudden release of apocalyptic power. He swallowed against the fear rising in his throat and said slowly, “I think this might be something we need to work on.”

 

***

 

Sleep hung around the fringes of John’s eyes as he opened their front door and tossed his keys into the bowl on the foyer table. The night before and the long drives to the beach and back had finally caught up with him. Kyle followed him into the house, a hand raised to ward off a yawn. It was contagious and John’s own mouth split into a yawn of its own. After depositing their coats into the front closet, John turned and sent Kyle a tired smile.

“I think I’m going to go lie down if it’s alright,” he said. Nervousness pricked at his his next words. “You could...come with me, if you wanted.”

John wasn’t ready to let Kyle go. They’d been having such a nice time and it all felt so perfect...why not nap together in a more comfortable location than the front seat of the Jeep?

Kyle looked up from where he was kicking off his boots near the door, his dark eyes wide. He didn’t say anything for a moment, but his lips parted and closed again. Finally he broke into a small smile. “I want to,” he said simply.

Batting down the small flicker of nerves, John reached out a hand. Kyle tentatively took it and they walked through the house and into John’s bedroom. It was fortunate that John had tidied it up recently, though nothing would better the sad fact that his bed was a rumpled, old futon. Still, John figured it was preferable to them both trying to squeeze into Kyle’s army cot or worse-- sleeping separate. The bond pulsed up his arm where they were connected and it settled a comforting warmth in the pit of his stomach. The more time they spent together, the harder and harder it was for John to be without him.

So rather than separate their hands in order for John to put on pajama pants, he just crossed to the futon in his clothes and pulled Kyle with him. He sat first and used one hand to pull off his shoes, but he didn’t bother to undress further. He was too tired and it would take too much effort. John sighed as he lay back onto the unmade covers. Kyle didn’t follow right away, merely pondered everything with a strange look on his face.

“Everything okay?” John asked, squeezing Kyle’s hand where it lay on the mattress.

Kyle met John’s eyes. He didn’t smile, but his gaze had a soft fondness to it. “I just like watching you relax,” he said. “You seem tense so often.”

“Do I?” John mused, giving Kyle’s hand a tug.

“Maybe not tense,” Kyle corrected, biting his bottom lip. “But not relaxed exactly either. I like seeing you with your guard down.”

John unwound his fingers from Kyle’s and ran them over the tattoo on the back of Kyle’s hand absently. “I guess I do need to relax more. But I know someone else who fits that bill.” He looked up with a smirk.

Kyle smiled at John and started to say something, but broke into a yawn instead. He rubbed his free hand across his eyes. “How’s that for relaxed?” he said. “I’m practically asleep.”

John gave a playful tug at Kyle’s forearm. That was all it took for Kyle to topple over onto his back in a heap and a laugh. “Then you should sleep,” John said low, turning onto his side and watching Kyle through his own closing eyes.

After a minute, Kyle turned to face him and for several moments, they simply looked at each other  A budding tendril of something new and strong grew in John’s heart as he took him in. He reached for Kyle’s hand again and they quickly clasped.

“I had a really nice time, Kyle. Thank you for going with me,” he said.

Kyle’s breathing had evened out as his eyes slid shut, but he smiled at John’s words. “Always, John,” he murmured. “For as long as you want.”

What if it’s forever?

The thought came unbidden and John was too tired to ponder it too deeply. So he closed his eyes and squeezed Kyle’s hand and let the soft sounds of long breaths lull him to sleep.

 

***

 

Close heat and soft feathering touch woke John sometime later. It was dark in his room, but he didn’t need light to know that he and Kyle had somehow twined into one another during the intervening hours. Just waking up, he couldn’t tell where his legs started and Kyle’s began. One of Kyle’s arms had come around him and clutched him near. One of John’s hands pressed against Kyle’s clothed chest. Their foreheads were nearly pressed together. An ache he didn’t realize he possessed uncoiled at the contact. It had been so long since he’d been close to someone and the sudden overwhelming need for intimacy was both keenly felt and immediately soothed by the present situation.

Kyle’s slow breathing let John know he was still asleep. He didn’t dare move for fear of waking him. Instead, he focused on the feeling of their limbs tangled and the pleasant warmth that flowed between them at their connected places. It felt...right. Taking a chance, he pressed his forehead fully to Kyle’s and imagined he could see inside that bewitching mind. What did Kyle see in his dreams? John hoped that Kyle wasn’t having nightmares-- especially about his hard past. If he was, would he unburden himself to John? He raised his free hand and carefully, smoothed his palm against Kyle’s scarred cheek; ran his thumb against the raised tissue. How could John have ever thought him unappealing?

The touch stirred Kyle and he shifted slightly, curling further into John’s body and tightening his arm about him.

“Kyle?” John tested, moving his palm from Kyle’s cheek to his neck where he could feel a rapid pulse.

“Mmm, I’m awake,” Kyle said, his sleep-heavy voice belying his words. The hand that had wrapped around John tightened as he stretched, pulling them even closer together. “What time is it?” Kyle asked, and John felt his body shift as he looked around the darkened room.

“I don’t know,” John said. “Late probably.”

Without letting himself think too much, John let the hand on Kyle’s neck snake farther around until he was embracing the strong body beside him, reinforcing their closeness. He closed his eyes again, willing sleep to return, but it soon became apparent that such a thing was impossible. John could still feel Kyle’s heartbeat through the muscles of his back and it was even faster.

“You okay?” John asked, his voice still low and rasped from sleep. “Bad dream?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Kyle said, sliding his hand slowly up and down John’s back. “Just waking up somewhere I’ve never been before threw me off. I had to remember everything from this morning. And from last night.” John could hear the playful smile in his voice.

The mention of the previous night brought back memories of Kyle’s lithe body pressed against him on the dance floor and John felt his own heart rate quicken. Kyle’s hand stopped trailing up his back and stilled, right over his heartbeat. John flushed, knowing Kyle could probably feel it. He swallowed hard and tried to find words to say next, but found his tongue tied. Kyle’s nearness and the way the planes of his body lined up so nicely against John’s had left him speechless.

“John?” Kyle asked quietly. “Will you turn on the light? I want to see you.”

“That requires untangling ourselves,” John laughed shakily, knowing it would mean Kyle would likely see his blush…

He groaned and slowly pulled his own legs from the bramble of Kyle’s and withdrew his arms. He had to slide to the edge of the foot of the futon to be able to turn on the tall lamp that stood there. Already, he felt gooseflesh rise on his arms at the loss of Kyle’s warmth and longed to return. John shielded his eyes with a hand as he turned the knob. Pale, subdued light flooded the room, illuminating even the smallest of corners and casting diffused shadows. When John turned back, the sight stole his breath from his chest.

Kyle lay raised on his forearms, the wine colored shirt he still wore stretched tight across his muscular chest. John could see in his mind’s eye the lean lines and scars beneath in his memory of the night when he’d cleaned Kyle’s shoulder and the witch’s wound ages ago. His skin grew a bit warmer.

“Better?” John asked, scrambling for something to say.

“Much better,” Kyle agreed, pushing himself to sit up fully. His usual messy braid had come undone in sleep, and he ran both hands through his black hair, smoothing it back and lifting it off his neck. He let it drop again and held out a hand to John. “We’ve already slept most of this day away. Let’s not get up now.”

John took his hand and Kyle pulled. The force of the tug was more than John expected and he ended up half falling on top of Kyle, their chests pressed together, hearts near. “Sorry!” he said, his face an inch from Kyle’s.

Those black eyes were blown wide and John felt himself getting lost in their gaze. Kyle’s lips parted and before John could think, he pressed his lips against them. Somehow, this grew quickly different than their previous kisses. Kyle’s arms came around him tight and John let the rest of his body conform to Kyle’s beneath him. They fit so rightly together that John forgot where he ended and Kyle began after a while. The kiss deepend, opened, and sent John’s mind spinning in only one direction.

John broke the kiss and pressed his forehead to Kyle’s. His breath was coming out in pants. “Kyle...is this okay?”

Kyle looked a little dazed as the kiss broke. He loosened his hold on John, but kept their bodies together, merely sliding one hand around to grip John’s bicep. He blinked, but held John’s gaze, smiling. “It’s more than okay,” he assured. “It’s wonderful. I’m just...nervous.” He spoke the last word reluctantly, as if he had to will himself to admit it. The blush on his cheeks was dusky in the low lamplight.

John softened and raised enough that he could see Kyle clearly. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, Kyle. Ever. I promise.” He moved his arm so his hand could brush Kyle’s cheek.

Kyle’s blush deepened further under John’s touch, and he dropped his gaze. “There isn’t anything I don’t want to do,” he said quietly. “I just…” He trailed off, but only for a moment before he looked back at John. “I might need a little guidance.”

The quiet, shy way Kyle said it gave John the impression that he didn’t have much experience. Considering that from what Kyle had told him, he had lived in a monastery for most of his life, it was no wonder. John was afraid his silence would be taken as something negative and made sure to smile to reassure Kyle. “We’ll go slowly and if at any point you want to stop, just tell me.”

Kyle nodded soberly at John’s words, eyes still cast downward, but his lips were curling into a smile. “I don’t want to stop,” he assured, and leaned in close to John again until their lips met. He kissed John deeply, hungrily, lips parting open. When he pulled back again, he asked in a throaty voice, “You’ll tell me what makes you feel good?”

A quiver raced down John’s spine in the aftermath of those words and Kyle’s kiss-bitten lips. “Yeah. Yeah, I will. You’ll tell me, too, right?”

Kyle just nodded and carded his fingers through John’s hair.

John leaned into the touch and kissed his way down Kyle’s cheek and jaw until he was buried in the soft slope of Kyle’s neck and shoulder. He took a moment and just breathed him in through the fabric of his shirt. John stilled and tried to wrap his mind around the weighty significance of this. He tightened his arms and Kyle’s own reflexively did as well. When John moved again, it was to lift his hand and gently unbutton the collar of Kyle’s shirt.

After that, it was easy to let his mind drift away into soft sighs and hard lines. And John let his body guide them both into a rhythm of ache and touch as the night wound on towards a new dawn.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, again, to all of you for your wonderful support and comments! We <3 you all!

The shopping mall where Laurie worked was nearly deserted when they arrived. Kahlil supposed that it was early enough on a Friday that the usual crowds of teenagers milling about the food court and sitting in groups around the fountains were still in school. John pulled into a parking spot that was just about as close as it was possible to get and cut the engine. Kahlil smiled as John turned his way. 

“Do you know where her kiosk is?” Kahlil asked, pulling a pair of knit gloves from his pocket and tugging them on before they exited the warmth of the Jeep.

“No, but we can probably check a directory,” John said. “I haven’t actually been to her booth before.”

“Or we could explore a little,” Kahlil suggested. “I haven’t been here since you were in high school.” He glanced up at the tall, stark walls. “There was no good way to see inside without going in. Plus, I liked the hot pretzel stand.”

John smirked. “I guess it isn’t creepy when you make it about the hot pretzel stand and not following me around everywhere.”

“Oh yeah,” Kahlil agreed, sliding around in his seat to face John. “It was definitely about the pretzels.” He reached across the center console and took John’s hand. It felt strange and muffled to have the fabric of the glove between their skin. After the almost three weeks since their beach trip and everything that followed, Kahlil had grown spoiled by the abundance of touch: holding hands while watching a movie, a lingering kiss before he left for work, and, every night since then, falling asleep tangled up on John’s futon.

John lifted Kahlil’s hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it, undaunted by the glove. “I’m glad you were always there to keep me safe.”

Kahlil blinked, surprised. John’s discomfort with the idea of Kahlil watching over him before they had actually met had never morphed into gratitude before, or at least John had never expressed it that way. Kahlil tilted his head at John and smiled, raising a questioning eyebrow. “Does this mean that you’ve decided my intentions were good?” He kept a light, teasing tone in his voice, but there was true curiosity there as well.

John lowered their hands, but kept them connected. He stared out the windshield for a long moment. Then, “I think your intentions are always good, Kyle. Even when you do things that may not be the right things.”

Kahlil ducked his head, but glanced up at John through lowered eyelashes. “Fair point,” he acknowledged. “Have I mentioned how much I like being around you, though?”

John smiled. “I’m glad you do. I love being around you.” John leaned across the console and kissed Kahlil’s cheek. 

Kahlil gripped John’s hand before he could draw away, turning to capture John’s mouth with his own. He wasn’t letting him get away with a peck on the cheek.

After a moment though, they did withdraw. Kahlil gave John a satisfied smile. “I guess we should head inside,” he said, unable to look away from John’s slightly mussed hair or the flush that had crept up his neck.

They went hand in hand into the mall, but ended up separating so Kahlil could use both hands to eat his pretzel while they walked. The mall wasn’t crowded, but it still offered plenty to look at while they searched for Laurie’s fortune telling booth. Young mothers pushed strollers and elderly couples in running shoes walked quickly past, everyone finding refuge from the cold sleet that had been falling outside for the past few days.

Kahlil was often struck by the vibrancy and the abundance of life in Nayeshi, and it was on full display in places like this. Every corner of the building down to the shelves in the stores were lit with bright lights, and the displays of shoes, watches, perfumes, clothing, and jewelry seemed to be so full that even if every person in the town bought something they still wouldn’t run out. John too seemed to find the manufactured space overwhelming. He focused on looking for Laurie and ignoring the storefronts with their well-dressed mannequins. 

“Is that her?” Kahlil asked, pointing with his pretzel toward a strip of kiosks at the end of a relatively quiet area of empty storefronts. He thought he caught a glimpse of a figure with blond hair under a gauzy red scarf that trailed almost to the floor.

John squinted and nodded. “That’s her.” He headed for the booth, reaching for Kyle’s hand again now that he’d finished most of his pretzel.

Kahlil smiled at John as they crossed to Laurie’s spangled and curtained booth. “We found this place so quickly,” he said. “I didn’t even get to see you try on any funny hats.”

John snorted. “Hats? I don’t wear hats.”

“I don’t know. I could see you in one of those big hats they wore in ‘True Grit’,” Kahlil suggested, trying not to laugh. They had gone through a few classic Westerns during their movie nights over the past months.

“What about big hats?” They had reached Laurie’s booth in time for her to catch Kahlil’s last comment, and she smiled at them as she leaned back against the counter. In addition to the red scarf, she wore a long skirt covered in jingling metal discs and a short puffy top that left a handspan of her waist exposed. Her arms and neck were covered in bangled bracelets and draped chains, and Kahlil tilted his head in surprise at the effect. Between the curtained backdrop of the booth and the costume, Laurie did seem rather ethereal.

John smiled at her. “Kyle thinks I need a stetson like the cowboys in all the Westerns we’ve been watching.”

Laurie wrinkled her brow and tapped her slim finger against her chin, examining John. “I see you as more of a top hat fellow,” she concluded. “But I suppose a stetson would look better when you’re climbing all over mountains and countryside.” She broke into a sudden grin at that. “Hey,” she exclaimed, as if she had just realized who they were. “You came to visit me!”

“I told you we would,” John said, peeking inside the curtains of her kiosk. “No customers right now?”

“Nope,” Laurie confirmed. “It’s the perfect time to run away for a little break.” She flipped around a little plaque that read ‘The seer is exploring the other realms and should be back shortly.’ “Let’s go,” she said, reaching over to Kahlil, plucking the last bit of pretzel from his hand and popping it into her mouth. “I’m starving. Oh, and John I know you said you would come, but you have to admit you’ve been a little distracted lately.” She smiled and winked at Kahlil, and he felt his cheeks warm.

“It was tricky getting my work schedule to line up,” Kahlil said. “All the college students are going back to school so I’ve been picking up more shifts.”

“I’m sure that’s it,” Laurie agreed, her smile widening. “Right, John?”

John rolled his eyes and smirked. “Since you’re starving, I suppose we should feed you?”

“You should absolutely feed me,” Laurie agreed. “And while I’m not picky, there is a new gyro place that opened in the food court and I absolutely won’t eat anything else.”

Kahlil, not entirely sure he remembered what a gyro was, looked to John for confirmation.

“Gyros are good. You’ll probably like one. Lamb meat and sauce,” he said. 

“I’m sure I’ll like it,” Kahlil agreed.

“You will,” Laurie said, and wrapped her arm around his, tugging lightly. “Let’s head over there before someone sees me and tries to get me to stay.”

They settled around an out-of-the-way table at the food court, trays loaded down with drinks and sandwiches. After a few bites of the gyro, Kahlil agreed with Laurie about liking it and finished the entire thing, despite the pretzel he had just eaten. Even still, Kahlil took longer than John or Laurie to finish his food, and they chatted while he chewed the last bites.

“So,” Laurie said, looking pointedly at John. “How has your… break been going?”

John stiffened and sipped at his water for a moment. “Fine.” He pointedly did not look at Kahlil.

“Fine?” Laurie asked, laughing as she fiddled with the plastic straw of her drink. “Come on, it has to have been upgraded from fine at least. Haven’t you done anything fun? I haven’t seen you since Christmas and you didn’t tell me any of your plans at all.”

He stared at her with an indignant glare that made Kahlil chuckle. John’s privacy was ever foremost in his mind. He did put Laurie out of her misery eventually. “Kyle and I are dating. Happy? Isn’t that what you wanted to know?”

Laurie’s blue eyes grew so wide they seemed to take over her face, and she broke into a wide grin. “Dating?” she squeaked. “John!” She picked up the empty container that her french fries had come in and flung it playfully across the table toward them. “How could you wait until now to tell me? And if I hadn’t said anything, would you have even mentioned it?” She was smiling through the chastisement though, and Kahlil got the impression that this kind of withholding was probably something that Laurie was used to by now.

“I would have mentioned it,” John said, affronted. 

“Yeah, in another month or so.” Laurie shook her head ruefully. “Anyway, what I was asking about was all your science-y field trips. I was just wondering how you’ve been spending all your time. I know you hate it when you don’t have anything to do.”

“I’ve been a little...busy,” John admitted. “It’s been nice to have some time off. My lab partner has been handling most of our site checks over the break.”

“I think you actually did tell me about that,” Laurie admitted. “And I’m glad you two are dating, even though you clearly don’t want to talk about it.” She glanced between John and Kahlil, and he swallowed the last bite of the sandwich and crumpled the foil into a ball.

“Thank you,” Kahlil said to Laurie while he looked at John. “It has been a nice break.” His hand slid under the table to find John’s where it rested on his leg. Laurie looked pointedly across the room.

“Oh,” Laurie said, smacking a hand to her head. “I almost forgot to tell you two. You especially, Kyle.” Kahlil raised his eyebrows at her, hand still wrapped around John’s. 

“There’s been a guy coming to my booth to have his palms read, and he has tattoos exactly like yours. He must have seen you somewhere and copied them or something. Oh, maybe he saw you at the coffee shop.”

Kahlil felt a sudden chill sweep him at Laurie’s words and his hand clenched around John’s. “What?” he asked. “How much like mine?”

“Pretty much exactly like,” Laurie said, brow furrowing as she recalled. “Even the eyes, which are pretty hard to miss. And I’ve obviously gotten a pretty good look at his hands while I was doing his reading. Weird, huh?”

John sent Kahlil a concerned glance and whispered, “Could he be from Basawar?”

Merely hearing John say the word Basawar sent another wave of cold chills creeping up Kahlil’s spine. Could someone from Nayeshi, a random stranger, have seen his prayerscars and gotten them as tattoos? The thought made his skin crawl at the disrespect, but it was nothing compared to the idea that another kahlil had crossed into Nayeshi through the Great Gate.

“Laurie,” Kahlil said, his voice low and urgent. “Can you tell me more about what he looked like?” In the years since he had become Kahlil, he had crossed between Nayeshi and Basawar whenever the Payshmura had seen fit to recall him, mainly for large-scale battles against Fai'daum forces. He had fought alongside other ushiri in battle as they had suppressed the militia forces. Maybe he would recognize one of them by Laurie’s description.

“Hmm. Well, he was an older guy. Not like, old. But older than us. Maybe in his late 30s? He was thin, with blond-ish hair.” She cocked her head, looking at Kahlil’s hand that rested on the table. “He had scars on his arms like you,” she added thoughtfully.

Kahlil didn’t say anything for a moment, trying to match Laurie’s description with any of the ushiri he had known. There had only been one that he knew of with blond hair, but he had been a boy younger than Kahlil. Her description of the prayerscars coupled with scars on his arms was enough to convince him that this couldn’t be anyone but another ushiri. A kahlil.

The realization was dizzying, and Kahlil felt the absurdity of thinking himself free, of his life here in Nayeshi as his own, and John’s and Rousma’s, sink in. How naive, to think that Payshmura would let the Rifter live just because one kahlil had failed to do as ordered. They must have sent someone else to finish his work, and if he still lived somehow, to finish him as well. He raised a hand instinctively, ready to slip into Gray Space and find his compatriot, but he stopped himself, glancing over to see the look of worried confusion on John’s face.

“You need to get somewhere safe,” Kahlil said to John, wishing there was more time to explain. 

John frowned and squeezed Kahlil’s hand in response. “I’m not leaving you alone.”

Kahlil smiled at John, although he knew it must look as strained as it felt. He leaned in close and kept his voice low, but he couldn’t keep the hissing, urgent tones out. “If that man Laurie saw is from Basawar, and I’m almost certain that he is, then you are in terrible danger. I won’t leave you, but I need to find out who this man is. And the further you are from all of this, the better.”

“Am I not safest with you? The best I can do right now is call up a thunderstorm,” John pointed out. “I would have no idea how to protect myself if this man came upon me when you’re not there.”

“You are safest with me,” Kahlil agreed, knowing that it was more that just pride that gave weight to his words. “But I’ll still be here. It’s just easier if I can watch for him where he can’t see me. And it would be better if you stay out of sight, since he probably has a pretty good description of you to work off of.” Kahlil cringed, knowing that his own reports back to the Payshmura would have seen to that.

“Um, I’m sorry but what exactly is going on?” Laurie asked, her eyes shifting between John and Kahlil. “Are you two having some kind of secret conversation in code or something?”

Kahlil was jarred out of his focus on John, and remembered that Laurie had actually seen this man with the prayerscars. He took a breath, considering how to even begin an explanation. “Um,” Kahlil started. He cleared his throat and continued. “I think I might know that guy actually. It’s possible we might be from the same hometown.” He quirked an eyebrow at Laurie, knowing that she would pick up on his intrigue. “Do you have any idea when he might be coming back?”

Laurie’s eyebrows shot up and she smiled. “Same hometown?” she asked, then slowly nodded. “Right. Gotcha. Well, he has been coming almost every day for two weeks. He said he works nearby, but I think he might have a little crush on me. He’ll probably stop by this afternoon.”

Kahlil looked back to John. “It would be better if you left. I can be at your side in an instant if anything goes wrong.”

“I told you, I’m not leaving. I’ll submit to hiding or something, but I’m not going anywhere, Kyle,” John told him. 

Kahlil felt John’s hand squeeze his again, and he nodded, resigned. He turned to Laurie and said, “Is there somewhere we could stay out of sight until he comes by?”

“Sure,” Laurie agreed, hardly phased by the sudden alarm electrifying the air around her two friends. “You can stay inside my booth. I usually do readings on the carpet out front anyway. Better publicity.”

Kahlil nodded, looking back to John. “I’ll be there, even if you can’t see me. And you have to promise to stay hidden.”

John nodded. “I promise.”

Kahlil wanted to lean across the space separating them, to curl his hand into John’s hair and draw him in. He settled for clasping both of John’s hands in his, and breathing a promise. “Then we stay together.”

 

***

 

It was surprisingly warm in the enclosed space of Laurie’s booth. John barely had enough room to sit cross-legged on the floor, hidden from the public’s eye by the heavy, patterned curtains draped across the booth’s entrance. Through a miniscule crack in the magenta and gold fabric, John watched Laurie sway her willowy body and swirl her ringed hands around a crystal ball nestled in a black velvet pillow. Children passing by pointed at her excitedly and were tugged away by their harried mothers. Laurie always smiled at them and John’s tension eased slightly, but not completely. In the air, there was a strange hint of ozone and a lingering seam of cold running along a portion of space just outside the curtains near Laurie’s position. It was where Kyle had entered the Gray Space to watch for the imposter kahlil. At least,  _ imposter  _ was how John was thinking of the stranger. The only kahlil John would accept was Kyle.

In the end, they waited a long time for the man to show. John wasn’t wearing his watch, but if he had to guess, an hour or more passed with him sitting in his cramped position on the hard tile floor. John thought about Kyle and wondered if his hours spent in the Gray Space were uncomfortable or if he was used to the constant vigilance and what must be some sort of cold environment based on the seams John felt and the puffs of frigid air that escaped when Kyle reentered the common world. 

Laurie’s voice cut through his thoughts as she welcomed a customer. John’s head snapped up and his breath caught. The man. True to Laurie’s word, he was older and tattooed, though John figured him closer to his early forties than late thirties based on the rugged, scarred texture of his face and the graying dark blonde hair that crowned his head. His eyes were a wild, pale hazel that gave John chills with the way they bored into Laurie where she sat below him. Ragged clothes hung on his lanky frame in such a unique way that John wondered if they’d been acquired in Basawar rather than Earth. 

“Shall I gaze once again into your misty future as it appears in my crystal?” Laurie asked in a showy, deepened voice. “Or shall I read the lines etched into your palms?”

The man sat in a swift, fluid movement and thrust his hands toward her. “Palms.” John marveled at the slight accent he detected--the same accent that Kyle had when he wasn’t focusing hard on his English. 

Laurie winked at the man. “As you wish, Frank,” she said, then took a deep breath inward. John watched for several moments while Laurie did not speak or move. She had rested her hands, palms up, on the low table near her client, and when she finally drew in a shuddering breath her fingers clenched into tight fists.

“I saw visions of your future,” Laurie whispered, so quietly that John had to strain to catch her words. He suddenly saw why Laurie was able to make a living doing this. There was something truly unnerving about Laurie now, something that made it easy to believe that she was having genuine glimpses into a psychic realm.

She continued, her voice still soft and strained  “I saw you swimming in white light, nearly drowning. Then there were men around you, and you cried out in pain. I saw your hair being cut by a knife, blonde tufts falling to rest against dark stone floors.” She cocked her head then, staring intently at the man. “It was my hair, I think. Lighter than yours. Maybe my visions got intertwined a little.”

The man--Frank--gripped Laurie’s hands, his eyes burning with some fierce intensity that sent ice crawling up John’s spine. “What else?”

Laurie flinched a bit at the tight hold, but kept speaking. “A lightning storm, and the banks of a cliff caving away. There were two men standing there, and then suddenly they were gone just a moment before the ground collapsed. You were standing in the middle of some kind of desert.”

Frank slowly released her hands and folded them in his lap. “Thank you.” 

John frowned when the man didn’t leave. Frank simply sat staring at Laurie with a strange expression that hovered somewhere between discomfort and interest. John felt the atmosphere surrounding Frank growing strange and stagnant. 

“How much do I owe you?” Frank asked suddenly, as if just remembering that it was expected. 

Laurie leaned forward and rested her chin in her hand. “You know,” she said, crossing her legs under the table so that the chimes on her skirt jingled musically. “Of all the people that come here to see me, you truly end up with some of the weirdest visions.”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Frank said, smiling in a way that might be considered charming on someone else, John thought, but ended up almost sinister in that harsh face.

“No, it really doesn’t,” Laurie teased back. “But it might help me to get to know you better. You have been here an awful lot, you know. And even after all these readings, you’re still kind of a mystery. What’s up with that?”

She seemed so at ease with him…but that was Laurie’s way about everything really. John’s skin crawled just looking at Frank. It was so unnerving seeing those tattoos on anyone but Kyle. Frank blinked, revealing the dark lines above his eyes and it sent a shiver through John. 

“We haven’t exactly talked much,” Frank pointed out. “I’d like it. If we talked.” 

John bristled when he saw Frank reach his hand back across the table to stroke Laurie’s inner wrist with a thumb. Laurie had gotten it right. This stranger  _ did  _ have a “little” crush on her. 

Laurie drew her hand back and smiled gently at Frank. “Well, as your  _ professional _ psychic I have to inform you that it will be a very professional talk. You get me, Frank?”

Frank frowned, but withdrew his hand. “You have someone you’re close to already?”

“A seer has many spirits that trail her and whisper secrets into her ears. Sometimes they’re so close to me, it feels like we’re wedded,” Laurie said in her deeper, more melodic tone. Abruptly, she switched back into the regular voice she had been using with Frank just moments before. “I also have a boyfriend that I live with.” She grinned.

“I see,” Frank said, leaning back and crossing his arms. “What is this man’s name?”

“It’s Bill,” Laurie said, her smile faltering just a bit at the question. “But enough about me. You’re the mystery man here, you know. What about you? Do you have someone special? A girlfriend? Boyfriend?” Laurie wiggled her eyebrows.

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “There is someone special. But she’s...unavailable.” He sent her a heavy-lidded look and slow smile. 

John wanted to strangle him. 

Laurie’s eyes narrowed in a show of over-the-top suspicion. “Right,” she drawled. “Well, I wish you luck with that. In the meantime, my psychic services will still be available. Maybe I can read success in romance in your tea leaves.”

“I would like to know what the tea leaves say,” Frank said, leaning forward.

“I’ll bring them tomorrow,” Laurie promised. “Persistence can be very important. When it comes to the future, that is. You can’t rely on just one reading. You have to consult with the divine on a regular basis.”

The smile he displayed then was entirely too full of teeth. “I will return tomorrow,” he said, standing lithely and bowing his head to her.

Before he left, he reached into his pocket and pulled out an ungodly amount of money. It reminded John of all the wads of cash he’d see Kyle with before they grew closer and John explained how dangerous that habit was. Frank handed Laurie three twenties, though her sign clearly read “Readings for $10” and walked away into the crowded mall. 

John waited until he had completely disappeared and then stepped through the billowy curtains. “That man is a complete psycho, Laurie,” he said with a sneer.

Laurie stood up from her chair and swept around John to a little cash box inside the tent. Stuffing the money inside, she looked up at John. “He is a bit much, isn’t he?” Her eyes glinted in the light that streamed past the curtained door. “He’s nice though. Just socially awkward.”

“Socially awkward doesn’t always equal creepy and he is  _ definitely  _ creepy, Laurie. I think you need to stay away from him. Besides, he could be from the same place Kyle is and believe me, it’s not a good place,” John told her. “I’m worried about you with him showing up as often as he is.”

“Oh my god, John. Just cool it with the big brother act. I deal with all kinds of people here, and I can handle this. As you’ve said to me many times, my line of work doesn’t exactly attract the sanest or the happiest folks.” Laurie’s cheeks had developed bright spots of pink, and the shine in her eyes had gotten even more intense.

Before John could respond, a hissing sound and a breath of chill air split the atmosphere inside the tent and Kyle returned from wherever he had been. His face looked pale and drawn, and he held himself with more tension than John had seen in him for months. His dark eyes slid from John to Laurie and back. “We should go now,” he said, gaze finally resting on John.

“Is it safe to leave Laurie here when that guy could just walk back up to the tent?” John asked him. 

Kyle paused, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck while he considered. He took a step closer to John before he spoke. “I’m worried about  _ you _ ,” he said. “But it would be better if no one went near him at all.”

John frowned. This Frank, whoever he was, seemed like much more of a threat to Laurie than himself, but he nodded. “Laurie, please promise me you’ll be careful, alright? If you need anything--if that guy follows you or something--please call.”

Laurie hadn’t spoken since her outburst just before Kyle returned, but she was shaking her head vaguely as she glared across the small space of the booth. “I’m sorry, but no,” she finally bit out, her voice clipped and annoyed. “You can’t just expect your boyfriend to materialize out of thin air right in front of me, tell me to avoid my own clients, and then scamper off together. No way. I want to know what the hell is going on.” Her small fists were resting on her hips and she fixed John with her angry expression.

John held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, Laurie. Easy. You’re right. You deserve to know what’s going on.” He looked at Kyle nervously. ”Kyle?”

Kyle blinked at John’s question, as though his thoughts had already made a hasty escape and John had called them back in. “What?” he asked, then glanced over at Laurie. “Oh, yes. You should know what’s going on. We can’t talk about it here though. We should go somewhere that he isn’t familiar with.”

John, not wanting to leave Laurie out of the deliberations, glanced her way and raised his eyebrows. She threw up her hands and scowled, rolling her eyes for good measure. When he saw she wasn’t going to offer up anything as an option, John shrugged and said, “What about the diner?”

“Fine,” Laurie agreed. “When?”

“Tonight? After you get off work?” John suggested. 

Laurie didn’t take any time to consider. “I’m going to bring Bill,” she said. “And you,” she added, pointing at Kyle, “are going to tell me what you just did when you stepped out of thin air like that.”

Kyle raised his eyebrows at the demand, but he didn’t seem upset by the prospect of explaining his strange abilities to Laurie and Bill. “Fine,” he said mildly, before turning to John. “Can we go now?”

John nodded. “Alright. We’ll see you and Bill at the diner at seven.”

Laurie folded her arms and gave a nod. 

John and Kyle wove through the mall and out to the Jeep without a word said between them. Kyle’s entire body thrummed with agitation and John could practically feel the buzz beneath his own skin that something was  _ off _ . Kyle was worried, that much was clear, and John knew that all the worry was for  _ him _ . But in his own mind, Frank wasn’t a threat to anyone but Laurie. She had accused him of playing the role of big brother--and not in a kind way--but John couldn’t help but feel a bit protective of her. They’d grown up together and she wasn’t the best judge of character on her best days. She was too cavalier with her entire existence. So was Bill. 

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” John admitted, breaking the silence as he slid into the driver’s seat and turned the ignition. 

Kyle nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on something far away outside the window. “You have good intuition,” he said.

The frown etching John’s lips deepend as he shifted into drive and wheeled them out of the parking lot.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to everyone who is still with us! Things are getting dramatic now, aren't they? Thanks also to everyone who has left kudos/comments. We love hearing from you. <3

The diner in the evening felt like an entirely different place than the diner at breakfast. There was a subdued quality to the buzzing fluorescent lights and to the patrons who sat nursing after-dinner coffees. Kahlil remembered walking into the same room with John, just over six months ago. It had been so sunny and warm as they walked from the house; the smell of blossoming flowers had hung in the humid air. He had met Laurie and Bill for the first time that day. Now the biting January chill followed them through the door, and they kicked slush off their boots before making their way across the linoleum.

Kahlil glanced at John, before pulling out a chair from a table near the back. “How’s this?”

John nodded, “This works.” He pulled out the chair beside Kahlil’s and sat, propping his elbows on the table and linking his hands in a tight grip. 

Kahlil passed a laminated menu across the table to John, and pulled another out for himself. He didn’t look at it though, just set it down on the table and rested his hand on top of it. His other hand slipped into his pocket and touched the warmed metal of his key that he had slipped there. He couldn’t help looking over at John, watching to see if he appeared nervous or upset. After they had left the mall John had been quiet and thoughtful, but that was nothing out of the ordinary. He wondered if John noticed how Kahlil’s own mood had changed. 

On the drive home from the mall, John had been anxious to understand what had happened. He had wanted to know what Kahlil had seen while he had been in Gray Space, and why they had to leave in such a rush. Kahlil tried to explain the alarm, the fear, that had risen in him at just the mention of someone from Basawar gaining access to Nayeshi. He could think of only one reason why they would send another Kahlil; he had failed his mission, failed to kill the Rifter, and they had found someone to come and finish the job.

John had listened to Kahlil and acknowledged everything he had said, but Kahlil’s own worries hadn’t seemed to rub off on him. Rousma too had been serene and quiet through the entire conversation, although she had kept her head resting supportively on Kahlil’s knee. She had waited until John had stepped out of the kitchen to shoot Kahlil a look and to say quietly “You is needing to be telling him about what the Kahlil do, if you is wanting him to understand.” Kahlil had stilled his hand where it had been absently stroking her fur, realizing that, as usual, his sister had found her way to the heart of the matter. Before they left, Kahlil had gone to his bedroom and pulled the ush’hala, the key that unlocked the Rifter’s death, from its hiding place above the frame of the closet door and tucked it into his pocket.

John had no real idea of why he should fear this new Kahlil. He had only told John about how he had been sent to protect him. The other parts hadn’t seemed relevant after the Great Gate was destroyed and his mission abandoned. Kahlil had no plans of ever following through with the instructions from the Payshmura, but perhaps it shouldn’t have come as such a surprise to him that they were taking matters back into their own hands. Kahlil felt an all-too familiar twist of powerless frustration wind through him. As usual, what he wanted was of no interest to the ushman’im.

Kahlil glanced over to John, who was flipping through the menu without any real interest. He itched to reach over and take his hand again, as they had at lunch, but he knew that he should wait until after John had heard what he had to say. He cleared his throat.

“Um, John,” Kahlil started, wincing at how timid his own voice sounded. “There’s probably something else I should explain about before Laurie and Bill show up.”

“Oh?” John raised an eyebrow, closing the menu and turning to look at him. “What is it?”

Kahlil looked down at the table where his hand rested on the sticky surface of the menu. He kept his gaze fixed there as he said “Do you remember the note that came in the mail along with the key? The one that you gave to me when we were on the mountain?”

John’s eyebrows furrowed. “I remember. You never did explain where they came from or what they were for really.”

“Yes, I need to explain,” Kahlil agreed, taking a deep breath in through his nose. The smells of fried food and burnt coffee were nearly overwhelming. He looked up at John then, meeting his intense blue eyes and holding their gaze. It was harder than he imagined to tell John about this. “There are powerful priests in Basawar,” he said, quietly. “They trained me and sent me here. The letter was from them. It was…” he trailed off, considering. “It was an instruction; one that I ignored. When a Kahlil is sent out, it is with the understanding that he will find the Rifter and watch over him. But also that, when word comes, he will bring the Rifter back to Basawar. Or that he will kill him.”

John looked away, his eyes focusing on the false wood grain of the tabletop. The frown marring his handsome face deepened and he said nothing for a long moment. “All the knives,” he finally said. “And weapons. They weren’t for protection, were they?”

Kahlil felt ice slipping through his veins at the tone in John’s voice. “No,” he agreed. “Not exactly.” Kahlil let himself pause, drawing another deep breath. “The letter that they sent, paired with the key, was a sort of coded message. It meant don’t return to us, and don’t bring the Rifter through the Gate. The key…” Kahlil fingered the ush’hala, pulling it out of his pocket and setting it on the table between them. The metal looked dull under the bright artificial lighting. “The key unlocks the Rifter’s death. In Basawar, it’s the only way that the Rifter can be killed. I thought...” Kahlil trailed off again, wanting to make it clear to John that as long as they had the key it was no threat to him. “I thought maybe you’d like to hang onto it. That way you’d know it was safe. That you were safe.”

John simply stared at the gleaming metal for a long time. His eyes flicked up to Kahlil’s. A strong, callused hand settled over Kahlil’s above the key. “That must have been hard to tell me,” John finally said. 

The touch of John’s hand seemed to instantly melt the ice, and Kahlil felt a wave of relief sweep over him that John would still trust him. “I never want you to think that I might hurt you,” Kahlil said. “Even when I hardly knew you, I couldn’t do it. Now,” he shook his head, “I would die myself before I let them get near you.”

John’s fingers enclosed around his and he squeezed Kahlil’s hand. “Thank you for explaining. Now I see why you’re so worried about Laurie’s client.”

“You make me sound like a mother hen,” Kahlil smiled at John. “I’m not  _ worried _ , I’m alert to danger. Whoever that man is, I can take care of him. Especially since we have the advantage of knowing about him before he has found you.”

“True…” John conceded. He looked like he might say more, but a cheery voice from behind them sent John’s neck craning back to look at the entrance to the diner. 

“Hi, fellas,” Bill chimed, hands buried in his baggy pants pockets. He shook his dark hair out of his eyes and smiled. 

Laurie followed close behind Bill, her boots making wet squeaky sounds as she crossed the linoleum. “Hello again,” she said, smiling. Kahlil thought she seemed calmer than she had when they had left the mall. Being around Bill seemed to rub some of his mellow personality off on her.

“Hello,” Kahlil said, watching as Laurie and Bill maneuvered coat and scarf removal and slid into chairs. He stifled his reaction to draw his hand back from John’s.

John’s pensive mood didn’t evaporate with Bill and Laurie’s arrival, but he did manage to say, “Glad you both could make it.”

Bill chuckled. “I cleared my very busy schedule just for you two, so you lovebirds had better be worth my time.”

Before anyone had a chance to reply to Bill, a server spotted their table and ambled over with a coffee pot in hand.

“I’m Candi,” the server introduced herself, turning over the coffee mugs that had been left at each of their place settings and pouring coffee without asking for confirmation. “Can I get you anything else?” 

Kahlil glanced at John, who shook his head. “I think we’re both fine with coffee,” he told Candi.

“For real? I’m starving,” Laurie said, wrinkling her nose in Kahlil’s direction. She looked up at Candi. “I’ll have a BLT on wheat, please. No mayo. Anything for you?” She glanced at Bill.

Bill lifted the menu and scrutinized it with narrowed eyes. “I’ll have the club special, no pickles or onions, if you please.”

Candi nodded in acknowledgement, adding “I’ll bring you all some waters,” before drifting back behind the counter.

Laurie had turned in her chair to watch Candi walk away. She spun back around and put both arms on the table, leaning toward John and Kahlil. “Ok,” she said, her voice low and her tone very matter-of-fact, “I’ve filled Bill in on my side of what happened today. But evidently there are a lot of holes in my version and I would really like some of those holes to be filled in.” Her eyes flicked back and forth between them, coming to rest on Kahlil. “We’re both particularly interested in the little reappearing trick I saw.”

“Based on what Laurie’s told me,” Bill put in, “the only conclusion that makes any sense to me is that you’re some sort of wizard or something.” He stuck out a finger towards Kyle. “ _ Are  _ you a wizard? Are wizards  _ real _ ? Has magic been here all the time right under my very nose?” He slapped his other hand against his chest in a dramatic flair. 

Kahlil couldn’t help but smile at Bill’s accusation. He raised one eyebrow and tipped his head dramatically. “I’m afraid I can’t say one way or the other about wizards,” he admitted. He hesitated for a moment, considering what he should actually tell them about Gray Space and his own abilities. Keeping it simple would probably be for the best.

“John told you about where I’m from, right?” Kahlil began in a low voice. Seeing Laurie nod, he continued. “One of the things I learned there was how to find and enter something we call Gray Space. It exists all around us, like another dimension. And if you know how to sense it and how to move through it then it allows you to move invisibly and very quickly. When Laurie saw me appear in her tent, I was coming out of Gray Space. I had tailed your client for a few minutes after he left.”

Kahlil paused to draw a breath, and to give Laurie and Bill some time to process his explanation. Until he had told John about the Gray Space he had never had to explain it to anyone before. It was forbidden in Basawar to reveal any Payshmura secrets to outsiders, and anyway he’d hardly ever been around anyone other than the priests long enough for it to matter.

Laurie and Bill were both looking intently at him, Laurie’s lips parted as though she had been about to speak but reconsidered it.

“Ok,” she said slowly. “So you’re basically saying that there is another world existing in parallel with ours? Another reality? Do people live there?”

“Dude, are you like...a  _ planeswalker _ or something? I have it under good authority that some wizards are planeswalkers and what you just said sounds exactly like that,” Bill interrupted. 

John smirked. “You’re ‘good authority’ comes from hours of fantasy gaming, I’m assuming?”

“And it’s proving relevant to the conversation,” Bill said, smiling. 

Kahlil frowned, not sure how to address both Bill’s and Laurie’s questions at once. “A planeswalker?” he asked, shaking his head. “I don’t even know what that is.”

Laurie pushed Bill with her shoulder. “Ignore him,” she said. “His go-to frames of reference are basically anything you’d find at a comic convention.”

“Those people know the truth about life, Laurie. How dare you?” Bill said, affronted.

Laurie waved Bill’s complaint away with a small smile and a roll of her eyes. “You didn’t see it Bill. He popped out of thin air.” She turned to look back at Kahlil. “I just want to know how you did it. Are you teaching John?”

“I can’t do it,” John put in. “This is unique to Kyle.”

“Actually, it’s not,” Kahlil said. “Laurie, your new client can do the same thing. There were many men training to move through the Gray Space in Basawar. But I don’t think there are any others here in Nayeshi that can do it. Still, even having one other is dangerous. It means that man has the potential to watch us without our knowledge, and to attack if he wished to.”

“I’m sorry Kyle, but I just don’t see Frank doing anything like that,” Laurie argued. “What makes you so sure he’s even from your world? Is it just the tattoos? Maybe he got those done here because he thought they looked cool.”

“They’re prayerscars,” Kahlil said firmly. “I would know the difference. And besides, after I followed him I watched him disappear into Gray Space himself when he thought he was out of sight.”

“That’s...troubling,” John said. “He could be watching us right now?”

Kahlil nodded, frowning. “He could if he knew where to find us. Although as long as he stayed hidden in Gray Space he wouldn’t be able to hear what we were saying.”

“Ok, but Kyle,” Laurie interjected. “Why do you think he’s even here? And why are you so nervous about all this? I would think you’d be thrilled to see another man from your world. Don’t you want to talk to him and see how everything’s going back home?”

Candi returned then with four glasses of water and the food. Kahlil considered Laurie’s question while she and Bill unrolled the paper-wrapped silverware and shook the glass ketchup bottle over their fries.

Glancing at John, Kahlil said “I didn’t exactly part ways with them on the best of terms.”

“So you’re saying that _you_ don’t want to see _Frank,_ ” Laurie said, her eyes narrowing. “That doesn’t necessarily make him dangerous.”

John held a particularly perplexed frown on his lips. “Laurie, I’m a little confused. Why are you so eager to defend this guy?”

Laurie stabbed a french fry into her ketchup puddle and chewed, glancing up to the ceiling as she considered. “He just seems really nice to me,” she finally said. “I don’t see why we have to start acting like secret spies and tailing him and having late-night rendezvous to discuss strategy, when you could probably just walk up to him and say hi. I’ve been talking to him for almost two weeks, and he’s been perfectly pleasant.” 

“Should I be worried you’re going to run away with this perfectly pleasant gentleman?” Bill teased.

“Only if you came with me,” Laurie said, her voice picking up Bill’s light tone. “You can have a place of honor in my little harem.”

Kahlil frowned. He had expected some of this from Laurie and Bill: for them to take things less seriously than John had. Even the short amount of time he had spent with them had been enough to tell that they didn’t share John’s thoughtful, quiet personality. But for Laurie to defend this other ushiri?

“Maybe I need to make the danger more clear,” Kahlil said, cutting through Laurie’s and Bill’s giggles. “However pleasant he seemed to you, this man is here to kill John. And that would be the best-case scenario. He’s dangerous.”

Bill’s eyes widened. He exhaled a shaky laugh. “Kill? What are you talking about?”

John had tensed beside him, eyes on his clenched hands where they rested on the table. He said nothing. 

Kahlil could see that he had their attention now. Laurie had put her sandwich down without taking a bite, and Bill was looking at him with his head cocked. “In Basawar,” he began, “there are priests who keep the holy books and teachings. They are the only ones who know how to cross the Great Gate, and even among the priests there are few who are ever chosen to do it. Only an ordained Kahlil is given the key that lets him control the gate.” 

Kahlil looked over to John, but he was still fixated on his own hands. His right hand tightened around the ush’hala. “The god Parfir has a human incarnation,” Kahlil said. He sighed. It had never felt so real, nor so raw and painful to discuss. “He is called the Rifter, and the reason why the priests send a kahlil here is to find him, and either to bring him back to Basawar or to kill him. It’s the only reason why that man could be here.”

Laurie’s eyes had stayed fixed on Kahlil through his explanation. Without blinking, she looked over to John. “Are you saying,” she asked slowly, “that John is a god in human form?”

John’s blue eyes flicked up to meet hers. “I don’t feel like much of a god, but apparently it’s true.”

“Oh my god,” Laurie breathed out, then clapped her hands over her mouth. Laughter bubbled between her fingers and her eyes crinkled shut with mirth. “I just said ‘oh my god’ to a god,” she choked out.

“Can you do any tricks?” Bill asked, brightening. 

John’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not a dog.”

“Well, dog spelled backwards is god…” Bill pointed out. 

John groaned and put a hand to his face. 

“Ok, but seriously Kyle, are you sure it’s John? I mean, we’ve known each other since we were kids? Do gods really have childhoods? Do they get into playground fights, or spill kool-aid all over their own shorts, or forget their lines in a school play? Sorry to dredge up painful memories, but let me be the first to tell you he isn’t infallible.” Laurie winked at John.

“I’m sure,” Kahlil said simply.

“I did  _ not  _ forget my lines,” John groused. “I just got...nervous.”

Bill reached across the table and patted his shoulder. “Chin up, man. It could have been worse. If you were  _ nervous _ , you could have peed yourself on stage. In front of all those people. Now  _ that  _ would  _ really  _ not be god-behavior.”

“Ok, ok,” Laurie said, pressing the spot on her forehead between her eyes. “So you’re telling us that John is a god, that Frank is here to kill him, and that you and Frank both have the ability to travel through a parallel dimension. Am I summing this up correctly?”

“Yeah, basically,” Kahlil admitted, frowning in distaste at Laurie’s simplifications.

“So what’s the plan?” Laurie asked. “I mean, I’m glad we know all this now but we can’t just carry on as normal, right? We should help you… I don’t know, protect John or something.”

John sighed. “I don’t need protecting. I just...think we need to be careful around this guy.”

“Very careful,” Kahlil agreed. “John, you should probably not go out any more than absolutely necessary. And if you do go anywhere, I should go with you. If this man has already found Laurie, then he is probably very close to knowing who you are. I doubt he’ll wait long to act once he’s found you. They won’t want to risk what happened last time happening again.”

“What happened last time?” Laurie asked, her brows knitting together.

Kahlil looked at Laurie and gave her a rueful smile. “I didn’t kill the Rifter.” 

John lifted his hand and placed it over one of Kahlil’s where it rested on the table. He didn’t say anything. Just squeezed his fingers once, then released. 

“Is it because you fell madly in looooove?” Bill teased from across the table. 

Kahlil felt a flush creeping up his cheeks. He suddenly wasn’t sure how to respond to Bill’s teasing, but outright denial didn’t seem accurate anymore. Luckily, before he could say anything, Laurie cut in with “I knew I liked you from the day I met you, Kyle. You should trust my intuition when it comes to people. I’m a great judge of character.”

“Perhaps,” Kahlil said, lifting an eyebrow. “You two should both be careful though. Stay away from him if you can. And it would probably be best if you didn’t come to our house for a while. He could easily be tailing you.”

Bill sighed, “You sure this isn’t just some elaborate scheme to keep John all to yourself? You know, for sexy times and whatnot?”

John rolled his eyes, but a distinct pink coloration had crept into the tops of his cheekbones. 

“So that’s our plan?” Laurie asked. “Just lie low? What if Frank isn’t actually a threat? How long are we going to keep this up?”

“I’ll keep an eye out for the ushiri,” Kahlil said, thoughtfully. Laurie’s point was a good one, and something that they would need to consider eventually. John would be going back to school next week. He couldn’t stay home forever. “And if you see him again, you should let us know. Once we’re sure that he doesn’t know where to find John, then maybe I can seek him out. Are you okay with all of this?” Kahlil asked, turning to John. “You’re even more broody than usual.”

John’s lips had flattened into a thin line. “It’s just...hard to wrap my mind around someone being sent here specifically to kill me whether it’s you or anyone else.” He didn’t look at Kahlil, his eyes firmly cast to the false wood of the table. “I trust you and what you think is best. I suppose I have to,” he finally admitted.

Kahlil nodded quietly, the burden of John’s trust suddenly noticeably heavy on his shoulders. Six months ago, he didn’t think that John would have said the same words. He felt a surge of affection for John, and fear. Whatever it would take to keep John safe, he realized, he would do. His life was here in Nayeshi now, with John and Rousma, and he wasn’t going to let any of that go.

 

***

 

It had only been three days and already John was stir crazy. As much as he enjoyed time with Kyle, the constant worried expressions he sent John’s way and the nonstop attention was growing tiresome. It wasn’t that he minded Kyle’s presence. He very much enjoyed their conversations and their time spent in his room away from Rousma’s prying eyes. It was the constant notion that Kyle had to protect John from Frank that had him irritated. John had no illusions that he was some expert fighter and he wouldn’t know what to do with a gun if Kyle gave him one, but it was grating to think he couldn’t defend himself. 

Morning light spilled through the windows of John’s room and the chirrups of birds cut through his thoughts. Beside him, Kyle slept peacefully and John lazily ran his fingers through the jet hair--loose for once. At least with Kyle asleep, he didn’t have to see the constant worry behind his dark eyes. John turned over and pulled Kyle in close against his chest, exhaling at the feel of Kyle’s skin against his. 

Kyle stirred. 

John winced at having woken him. He hadn’t meant to. “Sorry,” he whispered. “You can go back to sleep.”

Eyes still closed, Kyle smiled and raised his hand to cover John’s where it rested on his chest. “What time is it?” he murmured. 

John glanced to the alarm clock on the floor and said, “About nine.”

Kyle pushed back against John, pulling the blanket further up over both of them. “I can’t believe I slept so long.” He twisted back to look at John. “And you’re trying to get me to sleep more,” he accused.

“Well, I thought you might require more rest after last night,” John said against Kyle’s hair, a smile on his lips. 

“I’d rather just have more of last night,” Kyle said, his fingertips trailing over John’s forearm. “That was fun.”

John tightened his arms around him and used his nose and lips to push aside Kyle’s curtain of hair to kiss the muscular skin of his neck and scarred shoulder. A shudder coursed through Kyle’s body and John smiled at the effect he was having. He let his hands roam over pale skin, eliciting soft gasps. The kisses he’d planted on Kyle’s shoulders soon led down an arched spine.

“You’re so beautiful,” John breathed against the small of Kyle’s back. 

A sigh escaped Kye’s lips.

It was nearly ten before they were still again. John lay on his back, Kyle pressed in close at his side and his head cradled on John’s shoulder. “We could just do this all day instead of you going into watcher mode,” John teased.

“A nearly irresistible offer, if only there were someone to bring us all our meals in bed.” Kyle said. “Are you as hungry as I am?”

John glanced to his stomach, decided he did feel hungry after all, and groaned. “I guess I am.”

It was hard to peel themselves out of bed and into clothes so Rousma wouldn’t be shocked and affronted by their nudity. John would have rather stayed in his room with Kyle in a pleasant fashion, but by the time they closed John’s bedroom door and entered the kitchen, Kyle’s eyes had grown sharp and flinty with purpose. John sighed and sought food. Before they’d started their house arrest, Kyle had had the forethought to suggest they purchase a wealth of groceries, so they had breakfast cereal and protein bars lying around. 

While he ate, he rifled through yesterday’s mail and listened to Kyle and Rousma chatting. Though their banter was light, John could hear how serious the tone of Kyle’s voice had become. So it was to be another day like this. John was thankful for their time together that morning and last night. It had been a nice reprieve from the worry and fear he perpetually saw in Kyle’s face at the thought that the other kahlil might come to the house with the intent of taking John’s life. 

It was strange to think that Kyle had once had the order to kill him. Stranger still to think that the crazy Basawar church had sent another man across the cosmos to destroy him. Was John really that dangerous? He certainly didn’t think so. John checked the clock on the oven. It was nearing eleven. Laurie was supposed to call soon. Hopefully Frank hadn’t visited her booth again. It worried him more that the creep was hanging around Laurie than it did that he might potentially come and murder John himself. 

“Did you want another coffee?” Kyle asked, breaking into John’s reverie. He stretched out his hand toward John’s mug, waiting.

“Oh,” John stared into his empty mug. “Sure, thanks.”

Kyle refilled his coffee and sat at the other end of the table, petting Rousma’s head. John stared at the clock. Silence prevailed while they waited on the phone to ring. Before they’d left the diner the other day, they had settled on a phone call schedule to check in with each other, share news, and assure that everyone was safe. Eleven every day had been the rule. An eternity seemed to pass while they strained their ears for Laurie’s call.

Eleven came and went. Fifteen minutes passed. John drummed his fingers on the table and bounced his knee. 

“Do you think she just forgot to call?” John asked, a tense anxiety budding in his chest. 

“Maybe she got busy with something,” Kyle said, but his voice was suffused with uncertainty. “She’s never forgotten to call before.”

John jumped up from the table and strode to the phone in the hallway. “I’ll call. Just to make sure.”

He pulled the cordless phone out of its cradle and punched in Laurie’s cell number. His entire body froze as he waited for the dial tones to pass and for her to pick up. She never did. Without thinking about that too deeply, he called Bill’s cell. And waited. 

Nothing. 

They didn’t have a landline for him to try next. “They’re not answering,” John said, knowing it was obvious, but saying it out loud reiterated for him how unnerving that was. 

Kyle rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes wide and worried as they watched John put the phone down. “I could go over to their place,” he offered. “Just see if they’re home. Maybe they’re taking a nap or went out for a walk or something.”

“If you go, I’m coming with you,” John said, determined. He started for the foyer where his boots stood waiting.

“John, wait,” Kyle called. He hurried after John, grabbing his shoulder to turn him around. “I can be there in seconds. There’s no need for us to worry yet, or for both of us to rush out. Let me check on things first and see if it looks suspicious. That way you can stay here. Less risk.”

John frowned, frustration building. He balled his hands into fists at his sides, but gave a tight nod. “Fine.”

“I’ll be quick,” Kyle promised, stepping closer to John. They were standing face to face, so close that John could feel the warmth from Kyle’s skin. Without another word, Kyle reached a hand up and made a complicated flicking motion with his fingers, bringing a familiar wash of cold, ozone-scented air into the room. Almost as quickly, he was gone.

John stared at the empty space Kyle had occupied. Stared and waited. At some point, Rousma padded over to him, a canine whimper escaping her lips. John absently ran his hand over the top of her head while his other hand rifled his curling hair. He didn’t look at the clock. Didn’t count the seconds and minutes that passed while Kyle was gone. Outside the windows framing the front door, snow fell in heavy sheets. A cocoon of silence descended over him and all the world hushed while he waited for Kyle to return. 

Finally, a hiss cut through the air a few feet from him and Kyle spilled out. He stumbled a bit, reaching out to grasp the frame of the kitchen door and bracing himself there. When he looked up his eyes were wide and shiny-bright. “John…” he breathed.

An overwhelming sense of wrongness bit over John’s skin. “Where are they, Kyle?” He refused to think beyond those words.

Kyle didn’t answer right away. Before he could think it through, John stomped into his boots, grabbed his keys off the foyer table and ripped the door open. Snow blasted his face and cold enveloped his body in a cruel embrace. 

“No,” John heard Kyle’s voice croak out from inside the door. “John, you can’t. We don’t know where the new Kahlil is.” Kyle joined John on the front step, resting a hand on the sleeve of his John’s shirt. He swallowed, his throat working visibly, before he lowered his voice and spoke again. “You shouldn’t go over there. It won’t help anything.”

John shook him off and strode out the door into the pale, cloudy light. The jeep was parked on the street in front of the house and John got in without another word to Kyle. He’d followed and got in on the passenger side in silence. John didn’t object. Didn’t think beyond the next steps in turning the ignition and shifting into the correct gear. 

The drive was a blur and John barely noticed the speed he was going or the tinny sounds of the radio he’d turned on for Kyle the last time they were in the jeep together. When he made it to Laurie and Bill’s apartment complex, he parked and got out automatically. At the top floor, he stood in front of their door and pulled out his keys, sorting them until he made it to the spare key Laurie had given to him months before. It snicked into the lock easily and turned without trouble. 

He pushed the door open. 

The first thing he noticed was the darkness. Then quiet. John knew Kyle followed him, but he didn’t--couldn’t--hear anything except the white noise whispering in his ears. When he stepped inside, he didn’t see it at first. His eyes refused to take in the truth lying there on the living room floor. So he stepped closer until his boot squelched in a saturated pool seeping into the carpet. Then his eyes canted down and all the breath left him in a silent gasp. 

Bill’s dark hair fanned out beneath him where he lay crumpled in his own jewel-dark blood. Light streaming in from the open door didn’t illuminate the wash of red color staining the pale throat or the wounds puncturing his chest and belly. No breath pushed up through the slashed skin and ripped clothing.

John fell to his knees, hands trembling as he tried to reach out to his friend. He stopped himself just short of touching Bill’s shoulder to nudge him awake. He wouldn’t wake. There was no coming back from a cut throat. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to have left everyone with such a large cliffhanger, but we have some good news! Starting this week, we'll be increasing our posting rate to once a week until the story is finished! We've been writing a few chapters ahead and we are *just* about finished, so we're able to post a lot more without worrying about our posting pace overtaking our writing pace.
> 
> Another thing to note: We're updating a few of the tags/warnings to reflect some of the darker content in the second half of the story. Nothing beyond canon-level violence, but if that's something you think might affect you then please give the tags another look. Thanks.

Kahlil shivered on the doorstep of the house as he waited for John to unlock the door. In their earlier rush he had left coat, gloves and hat all behind, and by now any trace of warmth that the winter sun might have offered was long gone. The police had asked them to stay. Had said they would be questioned, and so they had waited around the station for hours, drinking vending machine coffee from styrofoam cups. Kahlil had watched and listened, catching snippets of conversation between detectives as they used words like “fugitive” and “bolo”, knowing all the while that they would never really know the truth of Bill’s death no matter how many blood samples they collected from the crime scene. If the man he had seen at the mall wanted to disappear, he could do it so completely that no police detective would ever find a trail.

He was more worried about John. After insisting that they call the police John had waited in the entryway to the apartment, standing tense and nervous against the wall. He had pointedly avoided looking at Bill’s body, and when Kahlil had asked him if he wanted anything he just shook his head in a vague refusal. He had been quiet all day at the station, although Kahlil assumed that he’d spoken at least enough with the detectives that they let him leave without suspicion. They had been questioned separately, Kahlil tense with fear the entire time John was out of his sight.

Now it was well past midnight. The police had dismissed them, and John had reluctantly agreed that there was nothing more they could do at the station. They hadn’t spoken at all on the drive home. Inside, Kahlil sank onto the living room sofa, watching John carefully. He could hear the thump of Rousma jumping down off his cot upstairs.

“John,” Kahlil said gently. “Do you want to try to get some sleep?”

John stood by the sofa, not looking at anything though his eyes stared intensely forward. He shook his head. “No.”

Kahlil sighed. He knew what John wanted: to go after Laurie. But Kahlil had reasoned that they didn’t have the first idea where Frank would have taken her. They could have gotten in a car and driven anywhere. They didn’t know enough about Frank to work out where he would be hiding.

“She’ll be alive,” Kahlil said. “He won’t kill her. He’ll want to keep her safe, and he’ll be back eventually to get you. It has to be why he came here in the first place. We just have to wait for him to turn up.” He stood from the sofa and stepped close to John, reaching tentatively to brush his fingers against the back of John’s hand.

John stiffened and withdrew his hand from reach. His eyes had a sunken, hollow quality to them that pained Kahlil. “We have to find her,” John said on a whisper. 

Kahlil knew that the sensible thing to do was to wait and to hope that Frank turned up. But the sensible thing to do wasn’t always the right thing, and John needed action. He needed to feel like they were doing something to help Laurie, and he needed a distraction from his grief over Bill. Kahlil nodded his head slowly, considering what angles they could realistically pursue to track down a man who, Kahlil could say with near certainty, would have no legal identity, no paper trail, and no permanent address.

“We can go back to the mall tomorrow,” he suggested. “Talk to people who might have seen him around. Maybe he told someone where he’s living.” It was a weak start, but it would be good for John to have something to focus on.

John turned and sank down onto the sofa pushing the heels of his hands into his eyes. A long breath escaped him. “I knew he was dangerous...why didn’t she take us seriously?”

Kahlil didn’t know Laurie well enough to say, but he slid to the floor at the foot of the couch and twisted his neck to look up at John. “He is dangerous still. You have to remember that when we see him again.”

Kahlil heard the sound of Rousma padding down the steps and turned to watch her carefully navigating each stair. She didn’t say anything, just crossed the room and sat at his side. He wondered how much she had heard before they had dashed off that afternoon.

John’s watery eyes flicked up and took in her arrival. “Rousma,” he said softly. Then his eyes sharpened and he sat up. “Rousma,” he said again, stronger this time, as though an idea had occurred to him. “You’re an oracle, right? Have you dreamed anything about Laurie and Frank and what happened to Bill?” His voice had taken on an uncharacteristic manic edge.

“John!” Kahlil whirled back around to look at John. Rousma had spent most of her life chained in Umbhra’ibaye and pressed constantly by the priests and holy sisters for more visions, more information about the Rifter. It surprised him how quickly John would jump to the same behavior, seeing her as a resource or a means to an end. “It doesn’t work like that,” he added, more softly. “She can’t see what happens to every single person in Nayeshi.”

John growled in frustration, ripping a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry--you’re right. I just--”

“I is having visions.” Kahlil heard Rousma’s soft voice cut into John’s apology. “Doggy dreams and visions is both full of bones,” she continued. “I is dreaming always, always.” She licked Kahlil’s hand and pushed her nose into it.

Kahlil frowned and stared at his sister. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“I dreams of the yellow man. Yellow woman. Yellow stones. They makes him a special gate, brand new.” Kahlil thought that he sensed a note of sadness in her voice, but she continued. “I watch them cross the space between. They new gate gate is open now. The dreams is coming from both worlds again.”

“What does it mean?” John asked Kahlil, his eyes swiveling from Rousma’s. 

Kahlil wasn’t entirely sure, but he asked Rousma “Is Frank the yellow man? You saw him cross through a Great Gate?”

Rousma licked her lips and nodded. “He goes with his Rifter. I hear us crying on the other side. They was busy making so many after they burned us all down. His Rifter burns us again.” 

Kahlil stared at Rousma, unsure if he had heard her correctly. “His Rifter?” he repeated her words. “Are you saying that Frank believes he is bringing a Rifter back? Is it Laurie?” Kahlil’s head swam at the thought. It was a radical, fringe belief. One that the Ushman in the infirmary had whispered to him in gleeful, scandalized tones while he had spent weeks in a hospital bed recovering after Dayyid had cut him. If the Rifter can be found in any time, the Ushman had theorized, what was to stop there from being two Rifters existing simultaneously? It only mattered which one the issusha’im identified first. After that, they stopped looking.

Would the Payshmura have been able to create enough new issusha’im after the attack on Umbhra’ibaye? Then it occured to Kahlil that it was entirely possible that time might have passed differently in Basawar. They could be sending this new Kahlil back into Nayeshi’s past. They could send him to whenever their new Rifter is living.

“They was needing a Rifter and now they has one,” Rousma said. “The yellow woman foughts the yellow man, but they went slippy through the gate like little fishes.” She licked her lips again at the mention of fish.

Kahlil turned to John. “She’s saying the Frank took her through a Great Gate. That Laurie is also a Rifter. They returned to Basawar.” He shook his head, hardly believing that he was saying it.

“Laurie...a  _ Rifter _ ,” John breathed. “How...I mean…” He took Kyle’s biceps in his hands and gave a miniscule shake. “We have to save her, Kyle. Didn’t you say they kill Rifters?”

Kahlil laid a hand on top of John’s where it gripped the muscle of his arm. John’s skin felt clammy and cold. “Whenever they’re finished having her destroy whatever enemy they brought her there to take care of, they will certainly kill her. They could never risk leaving a Rifter alive. Killing them is the only way they can control them.”

John seemed to double in on himself, curling over his abdomen and shuddering. Kahlil had never seen him so out of sorts. “Then we go to Basawar,” John said, looking up with flinty eyes. “Stop them before they can kill her.”

Kahlil heard the determination in John’s voice and felt his head swim with a sudden rush of memories and possibilities. Six months ago he had finally let himself come to terms with the idea that he might be able to stay in Nayeshi forever, that he could lay down the burden of his sister’s suffering and the fate of two worlds. The thought of going back made him nearly stagger. He looked at John and saw the high flush on his cheeks and the bright, feverish glints in his eyes. There was no way they could stay here in Nayeshi without at least trying to save Laurie. John would never accept it, and Kahlil realized that he didn’t want him to. He loved the conviction and drive with which John approached even the smallest things in his life, and this was so far from small. 

Kahlil turned to Rousma. “Do you know where the new Gate is?” he asked.

Rousma looked up at him from where she sat at his feet. “I is seeing mountains all around,” she said, her dark eyes boring holes into him. “They opens the new gate closey to the old one.”

“And Frank? Do you know where in time he took Laurie?” Kahlil hated this. Hated pressing his sister for information just like the Holy Sisters had done, but he couldn’t see another way for them to make it back to Basawar without her help.

“He is calling himself Fikiri,” Rousma said. “I was dreaming him a child on the Holy Road with blood sprays all in the dirts. But now I dreams him old. He skips past you, but you was meeting him once.”

Kahlil felt a niggling memory at Rousma’s words. “Fikiri…” he repeated. “Fikiri Bousim?” 

Rousma just nodded. Fikiri had been a youth newly arrived at Rathal’pesha just a few weeks before he left to be inducted as the Kahlil . He vaguely remembered that the young man had been in a hospital for years. Something about suffering chronic headaches after an injury. Kahlil had hardly known him, but apparently the gawky teenage boy of his memory had aged into a man in his late thirties or forties as time passed in Basawar.

“So he returned with her to his time,” Kahlil mused, calculating swiftly in his head. If Fikiri Bousim had been a young man when Kahlil had first left Basawar and now looked to be well into his thirties, then at least ten years had passed in Basawar over the course of the last six months in Nayeshi.

Kahlil contemplated the idea of returning to Basawar ten years after the last time he had been there. The Fai'daum had been gaining ground with each battle, and the Payshmura had been turning to dirtier and dirtier tactics as their advantages dwindled. He wondered what might have changed in the intervening time. Would the Fai'daum still exist? Would the Payshmura? Remember his last trip through the gate, Kahlil shook his head. He turned to Rousma, frowning. “My sword was destroyed though,” he reminded her. “How am I supposed to get us back through the Great Gate without it?

“You lost one key,” Rousma agreed. “But you has another.” She looked over to John.

John’s eyes widened and his hand went to the neck of his shirt. Looking down, he drew out a thin leather cord, upon which dangled the key Kahlil had given him at the diner. “This will take us to Basawar?” he asked, his voice low.

“It does what the Rifter tells it,” Rousma said softly. She turned to look at Kahlil. “You is already knowing about the keyhole the Rifter makes.”

Kahlil rubbed his eyes, suddenly feeling the weight and reality of this plan. The keyhole in the Great Gate, the one that he had found with John and that had led them here, was the doorway back to Basawar. He looked up at John. “It will probably work just the way she says,” he told him. “Are you sure this is what you want?”

John didn’t flinch, or bolster his words with a few moments’ time to think. “Yes. We have to save her. Whatever it takes.”

Kahlil gripped John’s hand and pushed himself upright. “Then let’s go save her,” he said forcefully, pushing all of his conviction into the words. John looked pale, but his expression was one of unshakeable determination. It sent a shiver up Kahlil’s back, energizing him.

“I should probably grab a few things. And I know you have survival gear,” Kahlil said to John. “It would be a good idea to bring supplies so that we don’t have to travel into any towns.”

John nodded and strode to the hall closet near the foyer where he kept his camping and hiking gear. He turned on the single pale light bulb inside, pulled out a backpack, and began filing it while Kahlil made his way up the stairs behind him. “Any specifics as to what I should bring, Kyle? I don’t really know how to prepare for Basawar weather or anything like that.”  

“It’s hard to say what season we’ll be going into,” Kahlil said. “It’s probably best if you dress in layers. We can lose coats if we have to. Other than that, we should just bring as much food and water as we can carry. And if you have any knives, bring those too.” He smiled grimly.

“Got it,” John said, hands adjusting in their paths to grab the items Kahlil suggested. 

In his bedroom, Kahlil glanced around quickly before crossing to the closet where he had stuffed the cloth-wrapped bundle of his knives and the belts that he used to strap them to his waist so many months ago. The whole room had a dusty, un-lived-in quality since Kahlil had started spending most nights on John’s futon. It didn’t help that there had been hardly anything in the room to begin with. Kahlil let his eyes travel over the battered army cot and makeshift nightstand. Being here in this house had been the happiest time of his life, and the sudden pang of memories overwhelmed him for a moment. He shook his head to clear it and pulled the knives down from the highest shelf.

 

***

 

Chill wind lashed across John’s face as he stared at the broken remnants of the Great Gate jutting up through the mossy soil of the mountainside. It hadn’t taken them long to locate it, having been there before, even with Rousma’s whimsical detours to sniff and chase after everything furry that moved. She stood between John and Kyle now, panting as the three of them waited on a hush for what happened next. Absently, John’s hand came up to the place where the key rested underneath his shirt. Was he ready to leave everything behind? Once they rescued Laurie, could they come back home? Did it matter? 

On an inhale, John stepped around the nearest yellow slab and saw what he expected to see; the black abyssal keyhole staring back at him. “Is it really so simple?” he asked Kyle who had come around behind him. 

Kyle’s face was pale and his jaw tight, but he glanced back at Rousma and a fondness crept in that softened him. “She says it is,” he replied. “I just hope we can control the passage well enough to get us to the right time.” 

“How do we do that?” John asked, having trouble conceiving the way in which they could possibly guarantee they would land in the correct time where Laurie and Frank--Fikiri Bousim--waited. “When you came here to find me, you said the strength of the bond helped, but…”

“Rousma thinks that having you with me will be enough. You will actually be the one controlling it this time, so just think of Laurie and concentrate on her as much as you can. The will of a Rifter should be enough to control the gate.” Kyle’s words sounded confident, but his voice was clipped and full of tension. “It’s going to be uncomfortable, especially since you’ve never even felt Gray Space. Try not to forget about Laurie though.”

“Okay,” John nodded. He was tempted to ask more--say more. But the more time he wasted talking, the longer Laurie was trapped in Basawar with that murderer. He drew the key from his shirt. With a quick jerk, he broke the leather cord from his neck and stared at the ornate, embossed metal. He raised his hand to the keyhole, but hesitated before inserting it. “Are you ready?” he asked Kyle and Rousma. 

Kyle dropped to one knee next to Rousma, placing a tattooed hand on top of her head. “You’re staying here,” he said softly, part affirmation and part command.

Rousma turned her head slightly to lick Kyle’s wrist. “You gives me my freedom, Ravishan. I waits so long for you to come and now I is living happy. I wants you living happy too.”

Kyle seemed to sink, his head dropping until his forehead was level with hers. “I am, little sister,” he breathed. “I’m happy with him.” He collected himself, wrinkling his forehead and blinking rapidly as if to clear blurry vision. “You’ll be okay out here while we’re gone?”

Rousma nodded, bobbing her head so that her ear brushed Kyle’s hair. “I is finding birdies and tasty jumper beasties.”

Kyle smiled wordlessly and stood, turning to John. “Do you have all your supplies?” he asked, his voice thick.

John knew how much Kyle must hate leaving Rousma behind, but knew, too, just how much it meant to him to be able to give her what he thought was a better life in Nayeshi--on  _ Earth _ . He tried to give him an encouraging half-smile, patting his backpack. “I think we’re set.”

He breathed in deeply, letting the moist, rich air infuse his lungs even as its coldness frosted everything in its path. Without thinking too much about it, he reached behind him with his free hand and grabbed hold of Kyle’s, holding on tightly. Somewhere inside, an insistent, reedy voice whispered,  _ Let this work...Take me to Laurie… _

John closed his eyes and thought of Laurie. Of running through the woods together getting scraped up and bloody from the brambles and laughing all the way home. Of their combined seventh birthday party when they rubbed cake all over each other’s faces before eating themselves silly. Of the way she always brushed off his concern like water. Her too-clear blue eyes seared themselves in his mind. 

He inserted the key into the lock and turned. 

Reality collapsed around them and John’s breath flew out of him in a surge. A thin, keening screech battered his eardrums, accompanying a terrible pressure that seemed to want to crush John’s insides into dust. It was like falling forever into a white void. 

The only stabilizing link was Kyle’s hand, still tight in his own. 

But John couldn’t feel anything else except the searing pain of the crossing. And almost as quickly as it had begun, the pressure ended. The indomitable whiteness eased. And the noise grew quiet. 

They lay on their sides in a field of parched, brown grass. Kyle’s eyes were closed, and in the strange not-quite-dark light, John could distinctly see the tattoos over his eyes. It was like a reminder to breathe, which absently, John realized he hadn’t been doing. He tried to heave in a lungful of air, but only managed a pitiful wheeze. 

Panic settled in and he tried again. 

This time, he managed more, but a clammy sweat broke out over his skin as he feared he’d never manage a full breath. As he tried to adjust to the thin air, Kyle stirred and opened his eyes. He, too was breathing hard--or trying to--and he seemed paler than usual. John looked between them where their hands were still linked. He squeezed, but could barely manage a firm grip. 

“I can’t...breathe…” John rasped. 

Kyle turned his head to at John, worry and a tinge of panic coloring his expression. He drew a heaving breath through his nose and held it for a moment before exhaling slowly. After a pause and another long inhale, he said “We might be in the mountains. The air feels even thinner than usual. Just breathe as deeply and slowly as you can.”

John marveled at his steady stream of words. He had barely managed three. But he did as Kyle had done. He pulled in as much paltry air as he could, held it, released it slowly. After repeating this several times, he finally managed a complete deep breath and felt victorious. This first hurdle complete, John tried to sit up. That was much harder. His entire body felt sore--as though it had been battered all over. And he supposed it had in that crossing between worlds. He would have said he hoped he never had to endure it again were it not for the fact that he fully intended to go home once they had Laurie safe in their keeping.

Feeling stable enough to take in a bit more, John looked at their surroundings. They were in some sort of meadow hemmed in by black trees covered in pale white-green leaves. The sky above was mottled with clouds and John  _ thought  _ it was night, but the darkness didn’t penetrate as it did back home. Instead, the air seemed suffused with a colorless twilight and John had no trouble seeing Kyle next to him or the treeline around them. 

“Do you know where we are?” John asked, pleased he could string together so many words this time with only minor difficulty. 

Looking up from where he had been adjusting the position of his knife belt, Kyle glanced around to the empty field and the far-off treeline. He frowned. “I thought from the air that we might be in the mountains, but this is so flat. It looks like the eastern plains. We’ll have to find a road or a town before we can say for sure.” He peered at John through the hazy gray darkness. “Are you feeling okay? You did really well. The crossing is always like that”

John nodded and concentrated on taking another full breath. It was coming easier now, even though his chest felt tight and hurt with each inhalation. “It’s better. We should probably...get into the trees. I don’t like it...being so exposed.” 

“You’re right,” Kyle said, pushing off the ground into a half-crouch. He rested there for a moment, hands balancing on his knees, while he caught his breath. “Go slowly,” he advised with a small smile toward John.

John put his palms forward, crunching onto the dry grass, and pushed himself onto his knees. It took more time than he wished to finagle his body into a swaying standing position. He wasn’t used to feeling weak and he didn’t like it. That same clammy sweat clung to his skin and for the first time, he noticed it was hot. His back was wet against his backpack and his hair was damp at his neck and temples. Had they arrived in Basawar in summer? It wasn’t completely unpleasant, but it was a shocking change from the snow in Washington. 

He turned to Kyle. “You lead. You have home field advantage here.”

Kyle smiled broadly this time, and it pulled at the scars on his face. It was a handsome smile despite that. “This does feel like the perfect weather for a baseball game,” he said, starting toward the tree cover. “Although I can’t say I want to deal with a crowd right now.”

John tried to laugh, but it came out a gasp. He resolved not to talk for a while as he continued to adjust to the different atmosphere and get his bearings. Kyle strode, alert and purposeful, into the woods and John followed at a slow pace as his body tried to perform the movements his brain commanded. Kyle was clearly moving in a way that made it easy for John to follow, but his body still appeared lithe, in control,  _ at-home.  _ He seemed to fit into this landscape in a way that John knew he did not despite being some incarnation of their god. 

They traveled for a while in silence and John had no idea which direction they were headed. The moon had either already set or had not yet risen or--another thought struck John--perhaps there was no moon or there was more than one. What if the sun didn’t rise in the east and set in the west as it did on Earth? Even the stars above were entirely different than the ones back home. John felt untethered and unsafe in this wild place and was thankful for Kyle’s knowledge. He seemed completely confident of their path. 

“Which direction are we walking in?” John whispered sometime later. 

“East,” Kyle said softly, looking at him with a crooked smile. “See the mountains way off in the distance?” He pointed to the low, thin ridge of darker brown earth that hugged the horizon line to their left. “Those mountains are far to the north of us.” He paused for a moment, and then added in a thoughtful tone, “That’s where I grew up.”

John nodded and tried to imagine the sort of place where a young Kyle lived. What sort of friends did he have as a boy? What were his parents like? As they continued walking, he asked, “What was your favorite thing to do as a child?”

Kyle appeared to give the question serious consideration, running his hand absently over the back of his neck. “When I was really young we had a garden. I remember walking through rows of taye that were twice my height. I used to love running up and down those rows. Rousma would try to chase me, but she was so little.” He turned to look at John again. “I guess just running up and down those rows. Kind of strange, isn’t it?”

“Not at all,” John said. He could easily imagine how soothing such a past-time would be. Such a feeling was what he chased in his own exploits outdoors. That connection with nature and a feeling of solid serenity that couldn’t be felt within brick and mortar. “I understand that.”

Silence fell over them and they continued walking. As they did, the twilight around them deepened slightly, though it never grew truly dark above them. A solitary, sickly moon rose and John figured they’d come into Basawar on the edge of dusk and night. His chest hurt with the effort of breathing the thin air and after a while, he stopped walking long enough to try and fill his lungs with a series of full breaths. 

“I need a minute,” he called to Kyle. 

“Sure,” Kyle agreed, lowering his backpack gently to rest on the springy bed of evergreen needles that blanketed the forest floor. “Are you ok?”

“This air is just...not what I expected,” John said, collapsing into a heap on the ground. He shrugged off his backpack and leaned forward onto his knees.

He heard Kyle crunch through the needles and settle near him. “It seems worse than I remember,” Kyle said, after a few moments. “I thought at first that I was just spoiled from being in Nayeshi so long, but this really does feel different. It’s almost like the air thinned out.”

John’s brows furrowed. “What could cause something like that?” 

Kyle shook his head and reached for his pack. He pulled a bottle of water from it, took a long drink, then held it out toward John. “No idea,” he said. “I always noticed that the air felt richer in Nayeshi, like a single breath had so much more life in it. I guess I never really thought about why.”

“Maybe Nayeshi is stealing all the air from Basawar,” John joked as he placed his backpack behind him as a makeshift pillow and lay down. He closed his eyes for a moment, expecting a teasing response from Kyle, but it never came. He opened his eyes again and glanced over. Kyle’s face was furrowed in deep thought. “Kyle? You alright?”

“Rousma said they created a second gate to let Fikiri cross,” he said slowly. “It would be a huge change. There had only ever been the one set of gates, at least in all the Payshmura history I’ve studied. I wonder if that could be affecting the air somehow? Maybe you’re on to something, John.” He raised an eyebrow and smiled, but it wasn’t the same infectious grin that John was used to seeing.

John looked up at the stars. “Maybe the gates and the crossings leech the elements in the atmosphere or something.”

He closed his eyes again and would have tried for sleep, but a disturbing thought crossed his mind. If the gates and the crossings  _ were  _ responsible for the thin air problem--and it was only growing worse--would their return to Earth with Laurie make the rest of the Basaware population suffer? John mulled that over for some time while Kyle settled down for the night beside him. 

Their bodies didn’t touch and John longed for it. He would have reached out to pull Kyle close, but he remembered that men caressing one another was forbidden in Basawar. He sighed. So much was different about this place. Already he yearned for the familiar comforts of home. But he knew his mind was better employed in thoughts of how to save Laurie. In order to do that, he needed quality rest. Another shaky but full breath filled out his chest and John closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep. 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to everyone who is reading and especially commenting/leaving kudos! We're so grateful for your support! Hope you enjoy the new weekly update schedule. :D

Kahlil woke to the sun peeking through the mist that hung between the trees and to a small fly buzzing around his ear. He reached up to swat at it, and his hand brushed against soft blonde curls. 

He sat up quickly, reflex forcing him to glance at the empty woods around them. At some point during the night he had managed to move close enough to John that they had been lying with legs entwined and faces just a few inches apart. Feeling the warmth rising in his cheeks, Kahlil cursed and dropped his head into his hands. He glanced at John through his fingers, but he seemed to be asleep still. Kahlil was glad; the last thing he wanted was for John to think that he had recoiled from him, even as a knee-jerk reaction. 

He made himself relax, dropping back down to the soft bed of the forest and squinting up through the canopy above them. His breathing felt more natural today than it had yesterday. Next to him, John’s chest was rising and falling steadily and he hoped that meant they had both adjusted. It was surreal to be in Basawar with John. As a Kahlil, it was a possibility he had always considered, but it had never looked like this in his imagination. In some ways, John was as safe here in Basawar as he had ever been in Nayeshi. The only way that he could be killed was by his Kahlil, and there was no way that was happening. But death wasn’t the only danger, and if the Payshmura were to find John, Kahlil didn’t want to contemplate the outcome.

They would have to move carefully, and preferably at night under the cover of as much darkness as Basawar offered. During the daytime, they could move through the wooded areas. It should be safe as long as they avoided any well-traveled roads. Kahlil pushed up onto his elbow and shook John’s shoulder with his other hand. “John,” he said. “We should keep moving.”

John rolled onto his back, groaning and flinging an arm over his eyes. The blond halo of his hair fanned out around him on the ground, picking up pine needles and bits of leaf litter. Kahlil smiled. “What time is it?” John slurred. 

Kahlil didn’t try to supress the smile that curled his mouth at the sound of John’s familiar words. They had woken up next to each other every day for the past few weeks, and he found that he had begun to treasure that brief moment when John first woke up, gentled and uninhibited in his half-sleep. “I’m not sure,” Kahlil admitted. “Early, I think, going by the sun. I was thinking we should try to get as far as we can under this tree cover while it’s light out. Then maybe we can make up time in the open once night falls again.”

A sigh escaped John’s lips and he sat up slowly, running hands through his hair to dislodge the evidence of sleeping on the ground. He took in a long, careful breath and something like relief crowded his features. “At least I can breathe again,” he said with a laugh. He stood up, dusted off his pants, grabbed his pack and looked expectantly at Kahlil. “Lead the way.”

They set off together, heading south through the treeline. John had brought a knife with him that he used to clear their path whenever it got too overgrown for them to continue, and they made a steady pace that way for a few hours. They spoke only a little, and when they did it was in hushed tones that wouldn’t carry. Kahlil warned John about using English in front of anyone from Basawar, in case they ran into other travelers. Their ultimate destination was Nurjima -- Fikiri Bousim would take Laurie there to the Black Tower -- where it would be unavoidable that they would run into people. Kahlil hoped that there were enough Eastern refugees there to hide John’s unusual appearance. 

By mid-afternoon they were both covered in sweat and shedding layers of clothing as quickly as they could. Not knowing what season they would be arriving in, they had both brought heavy coats, thick socks, and knit gloves. They kept as much of the winter clothing as they could stuff into their packs, but they had to leave the large coats behind. John arranged a careful layer of twigs and leaves over them. It wouldn’t keep animals from sniffing them out eventually, but the coats would be virtually invisible to human eyes and they hoped to be long gone by the time a curious weasel managed to unearth the pile.

John seemed to be fascinated by the wildlife around them. Kahlil himself spent more time watching John, who was gazing at each plant with wonder and turning to look at the sound of each bird call. He had asked Kahlil about the small white weasels that they had caught a glimpse of flitting through the trees, but other than to describe the taste Kahlil didn’t have much to tell him. It had never occurred to him to look so carefully at the world around him. He’d been preoccupied in his youth, and each trip he took back to Basawar from Nayeshi had been colored by resentment and fatigue. He liked seeing the world this way, through John’s gaze. 

They reached a clearing some time after the sun had passed its zenith and stopped there for lunch. Kahlil perched himself against a fallen tree and threw his pack to the ground with a grunt. 

“You’re doing well,” Kahlil said, finding it hard to look away from John as he crouched down to rummage through his own pack. “You hardly seem affected by the air anymore.”

John pulled out two protein bars, tossed one to Kahlil, and nodded. “I feel better now. A little winded, but we have been trekking across a forest all day. I guess you have no real way of knowing when we’ll come close to a town?”

Kahlil pulled the wrapper off of the bar and took a bite, chewing as he considered. “I can scout pretty quickly through Gray Space, but it still might be better to wait for nightfall to do that. That way, if I do have to come out, hopefully no one will spot me. Although if we were far enough north to see the mountains when we got here, then we’ve got a long way to go before we reach Nurjima in the south. We may need to get tahldi, eventually.”

John blinked and cocked his head to the side. “What’s a tahldi?”

Kahlil grinned. “Think horse with antlers.”

“Fascinating,” John remarked with a smile. “Everything about this place is fascinating.” He gazed up at the wan sun filtering through the black branches above. “It’s similar to Earth, but in the way an old tintype is similar to a modern photo. Same visual elements, but they’re expressed differently. I could spend years trying to catalogue all the plant life around here.”

“I’ve never really given it much thought before,” Kahlil admitted, raising an eyebrow at the trees and plants around them. “It was always just there. And in the Gray Space they were hardly even that. Trees, rocks, walls: they all lose form and let me pass right through.” He looked back at John. “I like noticing them this way though. Everything seems more important.”

John bent over and picked up a delicate leaf and rubbed it between his fingers before raising it to his nose to inhale deeply. “Even the scents are different. My brain keeps short-circuiting everytime I expect something to be normal and it’s entirely foreign.” He dropped the leaf and stood up. He folded the wrapper around half of his protein bar and pocketed it. “Are you ready to keep going? I want to see these antlered horses.”

“Sure,” Kahlil agreed, pushing himself off of the trunk. Before he could bend to reach for his pack, the rustling sound of boots treading through fallen leaves stopped his breath. A man moved out from behind a tree, swift and silent aside from the warning crackle of the leaves that he must have deliberately allowed. He held a rifle up to his shoulder, the barrel of the gun aimed directly at John’s chest.

Kahlil’s hand shot up, acting entirely on reflex. He felt himself reach out and find the Gray Space, cutting open a seam between his fingers, but before he could slip through, something landed on him from behind, bearing him to the ground. He felt his knees impact the dirt and the opening in the Gray Space closed with a hiss.

A few sudden shouts rang up around them. Kahlil struggled to stand, but found himself tangled in loops of fine rope netting. It caught and twisted the more he struggled, and when he reached for Gray Space there seemed to be nothing there. Panicked, he shouted to John “Gunman on your right.” He didn’t want John to do anything rash.

John held up his hands, moving very slowly. The shining metal barrel followed his movements and Kahlil’s heart sped up. 

“Don’t move!” the man warned, but of course John wouldn’t understand him.

John said nothing, simply stood and eyed warily the forms of five red-coated men surrounding them, most with guns or knives drawn. 

The light netting somehow felt like a lead-weighted blanket held him down. Vision partially obscured and head bowed against the force, Kahlil glanced around the clearing. He recognized the vivid color of the men’s uniforms: Fai'daum scouts. He had seen their red coats often enough from scouting positions when the Payshmura recalled him from Nayeshi for battle. He wondered how much these men recognized of his look or the English words that he had shouted to John.

One of the men strode forward, coat unbuttoned and flapping in the heat. He moved efficiently, but Kahlil thought that he detected a swagger in the step. Or maybe it was the just the smirk on his face that radiated smug pride. He crouched and cocked his head down to bring his face nearer to Kahlil’s. “Who’s your big friend, ushiri?” the man asked in a soft, dangerous voice.

The man must have seen his prayerscars and associated him with the Payshumura. Unless they had been followed since they came through the Great Gate. If a Fai'daum lookout had seen them fall out of thin air, they would have probably assumed that they were dealing with two ushiri’im. Kahlil didn’t think it likely that they would have left John unsecured, if that were the case.

“He’s a foreigner,” Kahlil said curtly. “He’s with me.”

The man laughed loudly at Kahlil’s words and stood. “Indeed,” he said, crossing the clearing to stand near John. “We’ve noticed. Where are you from, giant?”

John frowned and crossed his arms. “Kyle?” he said under his breath glancing to the net. He must have taken Kahlil’s warning not to speak English seriously, for he didn’t say anything else. He simply stared down at the Fai'daum scout with cold eyes and an iron jaw. 

The man laughed again into the silence and gestured to someone out of range of Kahlil’s sight. “Keep still, both of you. We’ve got a ways to go to get to Amura’dasstu. You’ll understand if we take the precaution of tying your hands.” Kahlil heard someone behind him rummaging through their belongings, and saw one of the men circling around him from the left.

“It will be better for your friend if you don’t cause us any trouble,” the laughing man said. Kahlil could see the barrel of the rifle still aimed at John’s chest. Without being able to move through Gray Space, there was no way he could reach John before the gunman fired. John would survive, Kahlil knew, but it would be far from pleasant. He stiffened at the touch of gloved hands on his. Two men worked together to tie his wrists quickly, while the fifth man of the group kept his gun trained on Kahlil. This was an experienced party of soldiers.

Once he and John were both tied, the men searched them and their packs for weapons. Kahlil clenched his jaw and stared straight ahead as one of the soldiers, a young man with green eyes and a sharp pointed chin, slid his curse blade and the yasi’halaun out of his belt. Assured that he had found every weapon hidden in Kahlil’s clothing, the young man jostled him to his feet beneath the strange netting. Even when Kahlil was standing upright it fell all the way to the ground, dragging along the forest floor. Kahlil noticed that the edge was braided with animal bones and that the bones were carved with unfamiliar script. 

He and John were pushed to stand near each other, two men with rifles still trained on them to deter any escape attempts. They were led deeper into the forest than they had gone before, Kahlil putting most of his concentration into not tripping over the net as it tangled in the leaves and sticks under his feet. He turned his head as much as he was able to glance at John. His face looked pale, jaw clenched tight and lips nearly bloodless. 

“Are you hurt?” Kahlil asked as quietly as he could.

John’s eyes cut to his, flashing with blue fire. He jerked his head “no”, but didn’t say anything. He looked back ahead and then at the men around them. His hands were tied behind his back and Kahlil could see the angry red flesh where John had tried to twist the ropes free. It wasn’t working. “Who are these people?” John finally asked, his voice almost imperceptibly low. 

Kahlil considered how to sum up the rebellion and battles of the past thirty years for John. “Insurgent fighters,” he finally settled on saying. “There’s kind of a civil war here.”

John’s eyes widened in understanding and he nodded. His body remained tense and the muscles beneath his shirt bunched as if ready to spring at any moment. “I can’t get out of these ropes.”

Kahlil twisted at his own bonds without success. “I need to be able to find the Gray Space. I think this net is spelled to block it somehow. As soon as they take it off, be ready. I can cut my ropes and then yours.”

John nodded and kept walking, alert. 

Eventually the scout at the front of the party whistled back to call a halt. John and Kahlil were led more slowly the last few steps through dense underbrush that opened up into a large clearing. Five dappled green tahldi were tied to trees around the open space, crunching sedately on grasses and ferns that grew up between the decaying leaves.

Kahlil rolled his eyes and turned to John with a wry smile. “Tahldi,” he said, inclining his head toward the animals.

John’s eyes were wide with wonder and interest as he stared at the ragged beasts. “They’re...kind of green,” he marveled.

Despite the danger and the guns at their backs, Kahlil couldn’t help but admire John’s inquisitive nature and the sparkle in his blue eyes whenever he discovered something new. Kahlil’s smile turned grim and determined. He had brought John though the gate and led him into this danger. A pulse of adrenaline shot through him, setting his teeth on edge and tensing his shoulders. Kahlil knew that when the opportunity came, he would do whatever he had to to protect John and to save Laurie.

 

***

 

The tahldi ceased to be interesting the minute John was forced onto the back of one behind a red-coated insurgent and the creature bounded off down a barely cleared forest path. The thing leapt in undulating jumps that made John’s stomach lurch. He longed for the simple gallop of a horse for the next several hours. Because his hands were tied behind his back and he had no real way to hold on, John kept his legs clamped tightly to the animal’s sides, praying he wouldn’t fall off and crack his skull on the increasingly rocky ground. 

John couldn’t tell how many hours had actually passed, but it hadn’t been long after they left the treeline that the terrain had become rugged and parched in the dry, crackling heat around them. Since then, countless minutes had ticked by and if John had to guess by the sun, he assumed they were headed north. But who knew if the sun rose in the east and set in the west in Basawar as it did on Earth? 

The man in front of him said nothing and John grimaced at the sweat plastering the red coat to his back against John’s front. How could they stand such a heavy garment in the heat? To distract himself, John searched for Kyle for the millionth time since they’d begun riding. He was up ahead, slung sideways over the back of a tahldi, tangled and trapped in that net they’d wrapped around him. Someone had tied off the ends of the net so that Kyle was completely encapsulated in the ropey material. John frowned. This situation was getting worse all the time. He had zero ideas for how they might escape and depending wholly on Kyle to get them out seemed disingenuous. John would have to contribute ideas, too. 

It was near dusk when the dregs of a town first crept over the horizon, cutting a black swath into their bleak surroundings. As it grew larger in his field of vision, John took in sooty stone and thatch cottages and larger buildings with newer facades. Few people milled about, but those that did held a mixture of features. Some were pale-haired and eyed while others held Kyle’s darker features. John wondered what their lives were like living in the lone town in the middle of a wilderness. 

The tahldi stopped at the signal from the man up front and John was immensely grateful. For about three seconds. Then the aches and cramps set into his muscles and he still felt the jarring echoes of leaps in his bones despite the fact that the beast had stopped. Men dismounted and John was pulled roughly to the ground where he landed hard on his knees. Kyle didn’t receive any better treatment. In fact, two soldiers simply hooked their hands around the rope of the netting and dragged Kyle toward the town gates. John was allowed to walk, but the guns at his back took away any illusion that he did so of his own free will. 

Various words and sentences rattled around him, but John didn’t have the benefit of Kyle’s translation, so he tried to absorb the sounds if not their meaning. As they passed through the gate, townspeople stopped to gape at John and Kyle as they were manhandled through the streets. John noticed that he was taller than every single person around him. It didn’t make him feel as confident as it could have. He knew nothing about fighting and he doubted he could best any of these men with their guns and knives. 

Sooner than he expected, he and Kyle were forced into a dark house at the edge the town. It smelled strongly of smoke and there was a sticky, humid warmth inside generated from the presence of many bodies. John took in at least fifteen people crammed into the small space. Kyle was unceremoniously tossed at the feet of a tall man standing over a table in the back. They pushed John in that direction as well, forcing him to his knees on the roughly packed dirt floor. Loose scree bit into the fabric of his jeans and rubbed into his skin like shards of glass.

“You alright?” John whispered to Kyle where he lay next to him beneath the netting. 

Kyle squeezed his eyes shut and then blinked rapidly. “Yeah,” he rasped. “As well as can be expected.” He shifted and tried to wriggle his knees under himself, but without his hands to balance he couldn’t work his way around within the netting. He gave up with a huff of breath and looked back at John. “This is a Fai'daum settlement,” he said, speaking quickly. “They’re fighting the Payshmura church for land and property rights. They won’t want the Payshmura to have Laurie either.”

A firm kick to Kyle’s ribs had him gasping. John couldn’t understand the man who stood over them, but he didn’t seem happy to find them talking. John’s lips thinned. He wanted to throttle the soldier for daring to hurt Kyle. Before he could contemplate what he’d do once his hands were free, the quiet man standing before the table turned around. 

John almost gasped at the man’s appearance. He was probably in his forties judging from the fine lines near the eyes and mouth, but the rest of him appeared fit and strong. Auburn hair waved back into a single tie at the nape of his neck straining to escape. It reminded John of his own unruly mane. In stark incongruity to John and Kyle’s current state, the man appeared friendly and kind with an open face alight with curiosity rather than anger. But something flashed in John’s heart in warning.  _ Don’t trust anyone.  _

The man spoke in a soft, low voice, glancing to the man standing above Kyle. On the floor, Kyle himself tensed. John didn’t miss the reaction. He wanted so badly to ask,  _ What did he say?  _

Kyle tensed even further when the sounds of shuffling feet pricked John’s ears. He turned to the right in the direction of the noise and eyed a young man wearing dun-colored robes with several long braids in his dark hair. The auburn-haired man at the table spoke again, this time to the newcomer. 

The robed stranger eyed John and Kyle as if they were insects on a marble floor and said in perfect, though accented, English, “Our leader says, ‘Welcome’.”

John’s mouth tipped open and he stared. He had never expected to hear his language spoken in Basawar of all places. He stared wide-eyed at Kyle beside him.

Kyle had managed to twist enough within the ropes to sit, although he looked hunched and uncomfortable. Through the holes in the netting, his eyes tracked the two men. “I didn’t realize the Fai'daum were taking in defectors,” he said in English to the man who had bid them welcome. “Who are you?”

The young man bowed his head and made a strange gesture with his hands. “I am Parh’itam. Not all Payshmura priests who leave the primary church consider themselves defectors, ushiri.”

Their leader spoke from the table again.

“He is called Saimura,” Parh’itam directed them to the auburn-haired man. “He is the head commander of the Northern Armies.” The priest listened to another string of words from Saimura before adding, “He wants to know what you were doing in the woods so far from civilization with a Rifter, speaking the sacred tongue.”

John paled, his pulse slowing to a crawl. He didn’t dare move for fear that any muscle twitch might give away his fear at having been found out. Kyle had told him what the Payshmura did to Rifters. Would the Fai'daum be any better? 

The group fell silent for a moment at Parh’itam’s admission, but after a few beats of John’s heart he heard Kyle begin to laugh. He glanced over and saw that he was shaking his head under the netting, black strands slipping out from his braid and catching in the coarse rope. Kyle spoke then, a string of harsh Basawar words that John couldn’t understand. He sounded angry and scornful, a tone that was so unlike his soft and hesitant English that John almost didn’t recognize his voice.

John looked to Parh’itam and saw that the young priest was somewhat flushed, his eyes wide. 

“Your  _ servant _ ?” Parh’itam nearly stuttered, but reined in control.

Servant? John’s eyebrow twitched, but he didn’t look to Kyle--didn’t want to puncture whatever lie his lover had told in an attempt to protect them. 

Saimura laughed, a warm throaty sound that echoed off the low beams of the ceiling, and said something light to Parh’itam. The priest colored further, brows knitting together, and frowned. “We would be foolish to believe such a thing. There is only one reason a Kahlil would be traipsing around the wilderness with such a strange foreigner. He is your Rifter and the Payshmura have ordered him back to destroy us.”

John felt the blood drain from his face. Destroy? What could John possibly do? The most he had ever managed was to start the beginnings of a storm when he and Kyle had been at the beach that day. While storms could be dangerous, and certainly rain down destruction of their own, they couldn’t consume an entire world in chaos. He opened his mouth to speak, but found himself interrupted by Kyle’s desperate words.

“And why would the holy priests leave their Kahlil alone in the forest? Do you really imagine that you understand what their plans are? Would they let a Rifter out of their hands for even one moment?” Kyle sneered at the translator. “You have no idea, traitor.”

Parh’itam’s flush deepened further and his dark eyes turned flinty and cold. “Why you-- _ arrogant little sh-- _ ”

Saimura held up a hand and John tensed when the commander moved away from the table and came round to face him, placing his body between John’s and Parh’itam’s. He crouched low, bringing his eyes to John’s level. This close, John could see the man’s delicate bone structure beneath weather-hardened skin. A few white scars shone near the edge of the red coat’s collar. John wondered what sort of battles he had faced in his time. 

Again, he spoke the strange, harsh language and John almost whined in frustration. If people expected him to reply all the time, he would have to just learn the damn thing. Parh’itam scowled behind Saimura and said, “If  _ you _ and your...servant...have no intention of destroying Basawar, what of the rumors of a Rifter in Nurjima?”

It was too late. John couldn’t stop his reaction to the words.  _ Laurie.  _ His eyes had widened and his mouth had parted. Saimura didn’t miss it. His eyes followed the expression changes and he smiled--predatory and cold. Had John thought him friendly once? Feeling like a rabbit in a trap, John turned to Kyle, truly frightened for them for the first time. Saimura’s eyes lifted and he leaned around John to stare at Kyle with expectant features. 

Kyle raised an eyebrow and spoke in English. “Who knows what kind of rumors you cook up here in your backwater. If you think there is a Rifter in Nurjima, doesn’t that muck up your theory about who we are?”

Parh’itam crossed his arms over his chest, exposing forearms that were every bit as scarred as Kyle’s. “We both know the Church is cunning and ruthless. You will tell us their secrets before everything is said and done.”

“We don’t know anything,” John whispered the words before he could stop himself. He had no idea how to help Laurie, but surely keeping their mouths shut was the first step to ensuring these insurgents couldn’t use John and Kyle’s knowledge against her.

Saimura’s head cocked to the side and his thoughtful silence was broken by him standing from his crouch, knees popping and filling the tense, momentary quiet with the ordinary sound of a body aging. The commander turned to Parh’itam and nodded. 

This apparently meant something to the priest, for he smiled wickedly--triumphantly--and stared at John with glittering, superior eyes. “Separate them,” Parh’itam said. “We will know what they know before the night is through.”

John’s head jerked around to Kyle. “No… _ No! _ ” 

Heavy arms encircled John’s biceps, hauling him up from the ground. He writhed in their grasp, exerting every ounce of force he possessed to break free. He was inelegant and untrained, but his sheer size and height was enough to throw them off balance and for a moment, he broke free. John lost his own composure and fell to his knees near Kyle’s position beneath the tangled net. 

“Tell me how to do this,” John hissed. “I’ll get us out of this someho--”

A hand clamped over John’s mouth and a small object was forced inside--nearly breaking his teeth on the way in. More hands came around him and despite his struggle, he suddenly felt as though his movements were in vain. His first instinct was to spit the foreign object out, but the hand remained, clenching tightly around John’s face in a painful vice. The article in his mouth was strange, heavy, though its size must have been miniscule, and an iron taste floated over his tongue as he tried desperately not to swallow it and choke in the midst of his struggling. Heat radiated from the thing, almost burning him. A thrumming pulse suddenly coursed through his body and John felt all the energy drain from his limbs. He fell hard onto the packed dirt floor and felt several knees dig into his kidneys and upper back. Glancing about desperately like a trapped animal, John’s gaze finally landed on Kyle. 

Kyle’s eyes were narrowed and his mouth curled into a scowl. He was glancing back and forth between John and Parh’itam, who stood over him with a hand extended in a warning gesture. “If you think this net will hold me for long, you’re wrong, traitor,” he hissed at Parh’itam. “Let us go now and we won’t trouble you. We have our own business.”

Parh’itam laughed darkly. “You won’t trouble us now,  _ Kahlil _ .” The priest spat the last word as though it were a curse.

John was powerless to stop what happened next. Whatever the object was in his mouth, it had weakened him and he could only watch as one of the Fai'daum took out a pistol and savagely whipped it across Kyle’s temple. To Kyle’s credit, it didn’t knock him out right away, but he swayed with a groan. The next attack took him down and before they pulled John away from him, their faces were a mere inch apart. 

_ I’ll find you,  _ John promised silently, wishing he could speak past the damned hand over his mouth. 

In the next moment, he was hauled up and he felt his body go limp in the mens’ arms. The hand over his mouth disappeared and John’s jaw lolled open. A tiny white bone fell from his lips onto the dirty floor. Some sort of red writing had been scrawled onto it and a pale blue glow slowly extinguished as he watched it. 

One of the men that held him barked something in his ear and John’s head bobbed to the side. The weakening in his limbs had become near full-blown paralysis and a desperate helplessness overwhelmed him. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t fight. Couldn’t do anything to help himself. And as they dragged him farther and farther away from Kyle’s prone body on the dirt floor, John’s panic spiked into near hysteria. How had things gone so terribly wrong? What were these men going to do to him when they finally deposited his useless body at their final destination? A door opened up in the wall ahead and a stone staircase exuded cold and darkness. As they took John roughly down the steps, he counted every one -- trying in vain not to fall apart.

But it was after dragging him through countless hallways and stairwells in some sort of underground maze that the real, quiet fear set in. John would never find his way out. Not in this condition and not without hours of uninterrupted searching--which they would never give him. So he retreated deeply into himself and thought of home. Even after they stopped the journey at a dimly lit cell and strapped John’s body to a cold, slab table, his mind focused on the tall trees and moist, rich air of his forests and mountains. 

When the pain began, he tried to think of Kyle--of the happiest moments of his life. And when the pain continued for much longer than he could stand...he tried not to think of anything at all. 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for reading/commenting/leaving kudos! Have we mentioned that we added a few extra tags/warnings to this fic? If you haven't seen them, make sure you take a look (if you're concerned about that sort of thing). Otherwise, onward!

The door to the chamber fell closed with a hiss of air that reminded Kahlil of spaceships from Nayeshi. He watched the crack of light in the doorway shrink until the only illumination in the room was from the thin sliver of space at the base of the door letting in the watery, weak light of the torches lighting the passage outside the chamber. He turned and blinked into the blackness around him, letting his eyes adjust. The darkness was deep enough that he wasn’t sure exactly where the walls of the room would be, but he had a sense that they were close. There was an overwhelming impression of stifling claustrophobia about the chamber, a feeling that niggled with familiarity in Kahlil’s mind.

Shuffling carefully, glad at least to be free of the strange net that had kept him barred from Gray Space, Kahlil reached out into the darkness. In less than three steps his hand encountered a wall that felt like compacted dirt. His head had been swimming since the Fai'daum soldier had hit him with the gun, but he remembered being dragged through narrow tunnels and descending an earthen staircase. He cursed himself for not being more vigilant. He had no idea where John had been taken. He wasn’t even sure where he was, beyond a suspicion that he was underground.

It was time to leave, time to find John and get them out of this place. Kahlil pushed damp strands of hair off his forehead. Sweat and blood combined, he thought. Taking a centering breath, he flicked the fingers of his right hand apart to open a seam in the Gray Space. Nothing happened. Kahlil frowned and shook his head to clear the fogginess that lingered. He tried again, and then again with his left hand before panic began to set in. He felt uncertain of his balance in the darkness and the room tipped suddenly and violently sideways, sending him reeling into the wall. The impact of his shoulder against the hard earth felt good, familiar. Sinking slowly down the surface into a crouch, he made himself breathe again.

With the solid wall to brace him, Kahlil tried another tentative flick of his fingers. There was no rewarding hiss or rush of cold air. There was nothing, and Kahlil realized suddenly that this room must have been charmed in the same way that the net they had confined him with had been. Like the confines of the net, this room seemed to seal him off from Gray Space entirely. Kahlil bit his lip and swept his gaze vainly into the darkness. He scrambled suddenly, pushing off the wall and onto his hands and knees, sweeping his arms out in front of him to find out what lurked in the invisible corners of the room. It was quick work to complete his frenzied search; the chamber was barely long enough for him to take more than a few steps in either direction and when he stood again he could touch the ceiling easily.

Kahlil stopped, lowering his arm slowly and fighting the panic that was welling inside him. He backed cautiously against the wall again, feeling better having something solid and safe behind him. The darkness in front of him loomed; even knowing how small the room was Kahlil was suddenly uncertain if a chasm had just opened up before him. The oppressive airlessness of the space hadn’t abated, but the darkness had deepened and he started to wonder if he wasn’t hearing footsteps approaching through the impenetrable black.

He scraped his boots across the floor, scuffing them through the dirt and stones just to hear a sound that was close and real. Clasping his hands together behind his neck, he bowed his head and closed his eyes. He drew in deep breaths that calmed him for a moment, but as time passed the imaginary sounds in his head began to drown out the scrape of his boots and the heavy sound of his own breathing. He flinched suddenly, entire body tensing for a blow. It would be a hooked punch across his cheekbone, or a chop down into the meat of his shoulder. Or a sweeping kick that would leave him on the ground, the worst possibility of all.

Kahlil cringed at himself and his own cowardice, pushing harder back against the wall and scrubbing a frantic hand over his face. There was no one else here. It had been years since he had been in a room like this, one of the tiny chambers deep beneath Rathal’pesha where Dayyid had locked him. It was too easy, too tempting, for an ushiri to slip away from punishment in any other place. Kahlil snaked his hand out tentatively, feeling along the wall for the loop of iron that he was now convinced must be there.

Kahlil stopped, growling under his breath and balling his hands into fists. This was not Rathal’pesha. There were no shackles in this room. It was easy to know that, but harder to convince his heartbeat to slow and his breathing to even. He closed his eyes and felt marginally better. It seemed to make more sense to his brain to experience the darkness of the chamber when his eyes were closed. It didn’t stop the memory of Dayyid’s hand, huge compared to his child-sized one, clamped around his wrist.

Even as a child, he had been singled out. Dayyid had wanted a Kahlil, and had seen in him his best chance. Kahlil thought about Nayeshi, and the broken stones, and Rousma sitting alone while they slipped away through the gate. Then he thought about John. All of it -- the training, the sacrifice, Dayyid, and the dark chambers -- had led him to John, who was counting on him to get them through this. Kahlil pressed his fists into his eyes until bursts of light shattered behind his closed lids.

It startled him when he heard a key turning in the lock of the chamber door. Kahlil looked up, blinking blurriness away, to see the tiny sliver of light widening. Quickly and quietly, he lowered his raised hand behind him and flicked his fingers apart, searching for Gray Space. For a moment, he thought he felt the whisper of cold air and a sharp cutting edge, but the crack of light in the doorway darkened as a figure slipped through, silhouetted and anonymous, and the door was quickly shut. Kahlil put his index finger in his mouth, tasting the iron tang of blood. For the briefest of moments, he had opened the Gray Space.

The figure standing across from him struck a match, the light flaring sudden and bright, and used it to light an oil lantern that he had slung from a rope on his arm. The lamp wobbled slightly as the match came close, but the figure seemed unconcerned about spilling it. He dropped the still-lit end of the match onto the floor, where it extinguished instantly against the cool earth. The bright light of the lantern illuminated his creamy-pale complexion and auburn hair, and Kahlil recognized the Fai'daum leader who had questioned them earlier.

Kahlil eyed the man warily, squinting against the sudden light. If he wanted to get John out of this situation, he knew he needed to convince their captors to move him out of this room, perhaps even to let them go entirely. Surely the Fai'daum could be persuaded that having a Rifter in the hands of the church was not ideal. Kahlil sighed. Getting people to trust him, to like him, had never been his strongest skill.

“Is my friend safe?” Kahlil asked when the man seemed in no hurry to speak. “Where is he?”

The man--Saimura, Kahlil remembered--smiled softly. “He’s not dead, if that’s what you’re worried about. I cannot vouch for his current state, however.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Kahlil asked, eying Saimura closely and searching for weapons that he may have hidden on himself.

Saimura lowered the lantern to the floor and leaned against the closed door, crossing his arms casually over his chest. “He’s being questioned. Parh’itam is with him. If you don’t want him to suffer a worse fate, perhaps you’ll cooperate with us.”

Kahlil let the words, fallen so cooly from the man’s lips, sink in. Questioned. Suffer. He felt his stomach roll at the thought of John in danger, at the hands of these outlaws. “You can’t possibly hope to hold us for long. Why would we cooperate when it is so much easier to just wait until the kahlirash’im sweep through your city and burn it to the ground?”

After adjusting his perch against the door, Saimura chuckled softly. “There won’t be any kahlirash’im breaking down our door, Kahlil. They haven’t moved from their territory in months. No one is coming to save you--not even your precious Payshmura ushiri’im.” The commander’s hazel eyes gleamed in the lantern light. “Tell me what you know of the rumors we spoke of.”

Kahlil scowled; time had moved on in Basawar more quickly than it had in Nayeshi. It was possible that the Fai’daum man was telling the truth about the kahlirash’im. Maybe they were entrenched in Vundomu. So many things could be different now, and it was impossible for Kahlil to even guess. Saimura was right about that, there was no way the Payshmura were coming to save them when they thought they had safely locked John and Kahlil out of Basawar forever.

Meeting Saimura’s intense gaze, Kahlil asked “After what you’ve said about my friend’s treatment, why would I tell you anything? If you’ve hurt him, you’ve lost your bargaining chip.”

“We could always kill him,” Saimura said, retrieving a finger bone and a knife from his coat pocket. As if Kahlil wasn’t even there, the man started carving the bone with intricate strokes and notches. “Unless, he _isn’t_ your servant. If he’s truly a Rifter, as my men seem to think he is, then that would give us a much harder time, it’s true.”

Kahlil shook his head. Who was this man, and how did he have so much knowledge of the holy scriptures? The Payshmura priests who had defected and joined the Fai’daum had not been entrusted with information that could let them identify a Kahlil, much less a Rifter. It was almost as though Saimura was in contact with a high priest or an Issusha. If the Fai’daum had suborned one so high in the Payshmura ranks, there was no telling what information they had been able to get. “If you think you know so much,” Kahlil spat, “then what more can I possibly tell you?”

“The truth,” Saimura said simply. “Who are you? Who is _he_ ? If you are what your prayerscars claim and _he_ is what my men claim, then why are there rumors of a Rifter and a Kahlil in Nurjima?”

“You want me to vet your pathetic attempts at gathering intelligence?” Kahlil asked, noting the reports of Fikiri and Laurie in Nurjima. At least he had been right about where they would find her. If Saimura had any knowledge of when they had arrived or specifics about where she was being held, Kahlil wanted to tease them out. “I’d have to know what you’ve heard, if you want me to speak to the accuracy of your spies.”

Saimura gave him a measuring stare that would have inspired chills in a lesser man. He opened his mouth to say something, but just as the first breath escaped his lips, a keening scream cut through the air from beyond the room.

Kahlil’s head whipped around in the direction of the scream. It was John, it had to be. He felt the sound of it send icy fear through him. In the time that it took to process the scream, Kahlil felt himself dropping to a long-familiar fighting stance and launching almost immediately toward Saimura. Dayyid had trained him in rooms just like this, ensuring that his ushiri’im could fight without the benefit of Gray Space if they had to. It was the work of seconds to take the Fai’daum leader to the ground with Kahlil’s hand around his throat.

“Enough,” Kahlil hissed. “If you want to walk out of this room, you must let him go.”

Saimura shifted beneath Kahlil’s weight and he squeezed tighter, further constricting airflow to the commander’s windpipe. “Get your hands off me,” Saimura warned in a rasping wheeze.

Kahlil smirked down at the man. “It doesn’t seem to me like you’re in a position to demand anything right now.” He tightened his fingers around Saimura’s throat. “I don’t need a Silence Knife to kill you, you know.”

A cool smile bled through the grimace on Saimura’s face. He raised a hand and pointed at his neck. “If you kill me, there will be no one to stop my men from doing worse to your companion and no one to let you out of this room.”

“Worse?” Kahlil snarled without loosening his grip. “Am I merely supposed to guess at what that might mean? I want to see him.”

“Then release me,” Saimura growled.

Kahlil barked an incredulous laugh. “Take me to see him,” he insisted, the weight of his knees pressing into Saimura’s chest and arm.

It was Saimura’s turn to laugh. Then he gasped through Kyle’s fingers at his throat, “I don’t think so, Kahlil. I won’t have you cutting my men down with your Unseen Edges and God’s Razors. Let me go and I’ll bring him to see _you_.”

Kahlil hesitated for a moment, wondering what he could do to ensure that this promise would be kept. Nothing, he realized with a sinking feeling. If he wanted to see John, he had to hope that Saimura would honor his word, but he had no surety, no guarantee. There was nothing to be gained by killing the Fai’daum commander here on the floor however, and even a tiny shred of possibility that he could see John gave Kahlil some hope. With a grimace, he spread his fingers from around the man’s throat and stepped away.

Saimura coughed, sliding up against the wall and pressing a hand to his tender throat. “Wise decision,” he said.

“I’ll have to hope you’re a man of your word,” Kahlil said as Saimura bent to pick up the lantern. His shadow veered and spun in the twisting light as it swung from his hand. Wordlessly, the commander slipped back out through the heavy wooden door. Just at that moment, another piercing scream filtered into the chamber. Kahlil swore and let his chin drop to his chest, drawing in a shuddering breath as the darkness and the suffocating feeling of enclosure engulfed him once again.

  


***

  


John lost track of the hours sometime after the second broken rib. Now the torturer was taking almost lazy fascination in cutting small slices into the soles of John’s feet. The pain had long since faded in intensity to a dull, pulsating constancy that never let him rest. The paralysis from the tiny bone was gone, and in its place was a terrifying, jangling awareness of his nerve endings that made his entire body jerk at every touch.

“If you answer my questions,” Parh’itam said from a chair off to the side of the table, “all of this could end.”

John flicked his eyes to the left and took in the young priest’s form. He sat there, hands clasped demurely in his lap, staring at John with hateful eyes that spoke of years of anger and resentment. If eyes alone could kill a man… What had the Payshmura done to him to fill him with such hate?

Seeing his bedside companion, John thought of another time he lay injured in bed with Kyle beside him--reading old 80s magazines and talking about guest bedrooms. That felt like a lifetime ago now. He chuckled at the dark symmetry of the moment.

“What are you laughing about?” Parh’itam demanded. “You think this is some game?”

John moved his gaze off the priest and up to the boarded ceiling. In his peripheral vision, he could see the Fai'daum torturer rolling his shoulders and making circles with his neck. “Getting tired?” John asked, injecting as much venom as he could into the question.

The man sent Parh’itam a hopeful look, as if his ministrations had finally yielded a result, but the priest merely sighed, exasperated, and shook his head as he mouthed off a terse response in Basawar that John imagined had the same dry frustration of _He’s being a smartass._

In apparent retaliation, the torturer thinned his lips, flipped his knife and stabbed it straight through the muscle of John’s calf, down to the metal of the table below. John cried out, back arching off the table, the epicenter of the pain exploding throughout his entire right leg.

“I’m t-telling you…” John panted. “I don’t know anything.”

Parh’itam stood up and crossed to John’s side. He peered at him with a vulture’s beady eyes and remarked, “I’m positive you’re no servant, big man, but even if you were, servants _always_ know something.”

The knife yanked out of John’s calf, grazing his shin bone as it came through and a stray tear fell from his eye. He’d promised himself early in this slow process that he wouldn’t cry, but there it was--a single traitorous tear. John redoubled his efforts at turning his mind into a steel cage for his frightened extrapolations of what the men might do to him next. Kyle would figure out a way to get them out of this. Somehow. It was only a matter of time.

A hard fist sent his head flying to the right and he felt a pool of blood slick between his teeth. Parh’itam shook out his surprisingly effective hand and hissed. “Just talk, damn you! I don't have all day!”

The torturer said something to the priest and they spoke for a moment. Whatever they decided had Parh’itam going back to his chair looking somewhat disgruntled and put-upon. John couldn’t help but feel like this sort of thing wasn’t the priest’s everyday job. He didn’t possess the patience for it. John almost laughed at the frustrated outburst. As if ordering him to talk in the middle of a session where he’d just had his leg stabbed was enough to break him.

“Enough of this,” Parh’itam announced. “You don’t want to talk now? Fine. But you will once he’s done with you. We’re through playing nice.”

“This has been playing nice?” John huffed through a shuddering breath, trying to ignore the radiating pain in his leg.

A copious amount of clinking and scrapes came from across the small room and John glanced down the length of his body to see the torturer’s back at a table near the far wall. When the man turned around, he held a metal contraption that would give John nightmares for the rest of his life. Even Parh’itam blanched, though his eyes immediately sharpened into grim determination.

It was a boot of some sort, if John had to guess--and he truly didn’t want to--and as the torturer brought it nearer to his body, John felt his skin go completely clammy. He didn’t bother to beg, knowing it would gain him no mercy. He simply tried to breathe through the terror that seized him as the torturer unlocked the shackle from his ankle, opened the device, and slipped it over John’s right foot and up the length of his shin almost to the knee. It had a variety of clamps and straps lacing up its front and John used what little wits he had left about him to deduce how it worked.

He didn’t have to wait long. The contraption snapped closed, already too tight for comfort, and then the real pain began.

With deft movements of his fingers, the torturer tightened the clamps and straps until John felt his whole leg below the knee go entirely numb. After that it was all screams and cursing as his shin bones were crushed into dust with the continued, impossible tightening of the metal boot. John traveled to black depths in his mind he didn’t even know were there in an effort to escape the agony.

A low pulse thrummed through John’s body and his eyes flew open. Impossible, liquid strength slid beneath his skin and before John could make sense of it, he’d ripped his hands free of the shackles on the table. His left leg savagely pulled and, as if the shackle there were nothing more than melting butter, it gave under his strength. The boot was a problem, but he’d deal with it later. For now, he was free and that had always been the first step.

“What are you--Stop!” Parh’itam bellowed. He was out of his chair now and backing away toward the wall with wide eyes. Flinging something toward the torturer, Parh’itam shouted in Basawar.

John didn’t bother to listen for any familiar sounds or try to piece together what constituted a word or a sentence. He simply stood, painfully, to his full and considerable height and stared down at the much shorter man who had tortured him for the last day. He ignored Parh’itam. The torturer brandished a long, rusted knife and glared at him.

“Take it off,” John growled, pointing to the boot encasing his ruined right leg. He’d be lucky if he’d ever walk normally again--and probably wouldn’t.

The torturer’s eyes flicked to Parh’itam.

Parh’itam spoke and John hoped he was relaying his message.

With honed and precise movement, the torturer lunged forward and stabbed John in the stomach before he could react. He flew backwards into the table, the knife embedded in his flesh. The torturer leapt onto him and ripped the knife out, only to bring it down again and again into John’s chest and abdomen.

So this was his death.

He was going to die without Kyle, in the middle of a cell in a forsaken hole of a world called Basawar. John tried to think past the blinding sparks of pain as the man kept stabbing and slicing up his chest, but it was nearly impossible.

And then it returned--that pulsating noise in his head and the vibration in his bones. John closed his eyes and listened. Again he felt an unnatural strength flood his limbs. Before he could question it, John shot forward and gripped the torturer around the throat, squeezing and grasping with every shred of energy the unbelievable adrenaline gave him.

The torturer dropped his bloodied knife and clawed at John’s fingers. His black eyes rolled back into his head and animal wheezes came from his gaping mouth. John didn’t think--couldn’t think past the deafening thrum in his ears--he just felt a single imperative in his entire body. _Eliminate this threat._

It was done before John had even half tried. The man fell from John’s hands into a heap on the dirt floor.

Dead.

Parh’itam gaped behind John and he ignored him. Instead, he focused on removing the metallic nightmare from his right leg. When he tried to rip the straps out, it merely succeeded in tightening the thing further and he cried out. There was no obvious catch or release and his skin puckered where the rim of the boot bit into his flesh below the knee. Tears of frustration beaded down his cheeks and his eyes burned.

“How do I get this fucking thing off?” John roared.

Parh’itam didn’t answer, merely skirted around the table and fled through the single door in the room. John let him go, too focused on his impossible task. He eyed the knife beside the dead man’s body, but didn’t feel very confident that he could coax it into cutting through metal. The pain was already crippling and he’d mostly tuned it out over the last several minutes, but now it was creeping back in and with it came the pulsing. He tried to calm his galloping heart--tried to breathe through his panic.

With a more discerning eye, he examined the boot and this time, found a series of screws running along the inseam. He grabbed the knife and started unscrewing them one by one. When they were all out, the boot slowly began to unclamp from his leg and John cried harder with the relief. Finally, he removed the cursed thing and threw it across the room so hard it broke into two halves and fell to the floor. He refused to think on why he suddenly had the strength for such a feat.

It took courage to look down at his mutilated leg. He finally managed it and despair rippled through him. Without the infrastructure of sound bones within, his leg sagged toward the floor in a bloodied, pulpy mess. John’s hands twitched to touch, to reshape, but he knew it was no use. He’d never walk normally again even with a cane’s help.

John panicked when he heard voices outside the door. He had to move--had to get out of here and find Kyle. Frantically, he searched for anything that might be used as a cane or a crutch. His eyes scanned the table where the torturer had stored the instruments he’d inflicted on John and lighted on a fire iron. It would have to do.

He reached and dragged the iron from the table but whimpered as another ricochet of pain shot through his leg. John pulled in a lungful of air, trying to deal with it in a dignified manner. How had he channeled that strength earlier? Where had it come from? Kyle would say it was because of John’s Rifter nature. Well, where was it now when he needed it? Closing his eyes, John tried to remember the beach and how he had called up the storm.

In the end, it was simple. John sat very still against the legs of the torturer’s table and breathed through the striations of pain rippling through his skin. After a moment, he placed his free hand against the cool dirt floor and felt the earth beneath extending in an endless dive. A moment more and he could feel the earth above his head reaching for the buildings and sky above. There was power in the feeling and soon the pulsing thrum returned and John felt it course through his body, bringing with it that impossible energy he’d felt before.

Refusing to think or analyze it, John stood on his good leg and put down the fire iron to help offset his balance. He fell twice before he reached the door, but each time he stood back up, he felt the swell of energy growing within him. Each time it was easier to bear the pain. When he made it to the doorway, he glanced back at the cursed space and glowered at the trail of slick blood he’d left. In a moment of petty satisfaction he hoped some Fai’daum member would have a hard time cleaning it up out of the dirt.

Then he opened the door Parh’itam had left unlocked and walked out. Before he’d gone three steps, a contingent of ten Fai’daum men ran into his field of view with pistols and daggers raised. Parh’itam squeezed through their bodies and came out in front with a victorious sneer on his young face. John grimaced. He’d never deal with that many men in any contest--let alone when he was so grievously injured. Raising one hand in surrender, he dropped the fire iron. Two men came forward to grip John around the biceps.

With every minute of inactivity that passed, the pain intensified and the echoing noise in his ears grew dull. Parh’itam stepped forward and behind him came the Fai’daum commander--Saimura, John remembered.

John wanted the upper hand, so he spoke first. “Take me to see him. Now.”

Saimura glanced to Parh’itam. They spoke for a moment and the priest said, somewhat grudgingly, “Our gracious commander will grant your request on the implicit understanding that you will be chained from now on.”

He paled when he saw Saimura hand one of his men a pair of strange iron shackles. Bones had been fixed to the chains between the cuffs and on them, John could again see russet spidery script. Saimura said something to Parh’itam when he noticed John looking at them.

“They will keep you calm,” Parh’itam said. “We don’t need you killing another of our men.”

John grit his teeth as they closed the tight cuffs around his muscular wrists. They had clearly been made for a smaller person. Already the metal bit into his skin and the memory of the boot sent a shudder through him. Within seconds, though, all the leftover fight in his body seemed to drain out and he fell limp between the men who held him. They had a hard time keeping him upright considering he was nearly a third larger than they were.

After attempting to drag John through the winding corridors proved too challenging for a mere two Fai’daum soldiers, two more joined them and John was carried completely off the ground--men at his shoulders and men at his feet. Having someone pull and tug on his mangled leg was a pain so great it sent black stars exploding behind his eyes, but whatever the bones on the shackles had done took any attempts at retaliation right out of him. Eventually, they came to the end of a short hallway and heavy wooden door loomed before them.

Saimura stepped forward and slid a metal key into the lock. When the door was open, John couldn’t see anything at first. Then the light from one of the men’s lanterns illuminated a familiar shape and John tried to struggle against the men who held him. Unfortunately, with whatever spell that held him, he was unable to so much as jerk against the hold the soldiers had.

“Kyle!” he shouted. “Are you alright?”

“John?” It was Kyle’s voice, hoarse but identifiable. John thought he could make out Kyle’s figure raising an arm to his face to shield his eyes.

Relief flooded John’s senses. Kyle looked to be in one piece, perhaps a little weary and raw, but whole. Saimura flicked a hand and Parh’itam followed him into Kyle’s cell. The men who held John followed, but by the time they were all in the little room, it was too crowded for any of them to move, so Saimura barked a few orders and all of the soldiers except for two left. John was dumped unceremoniously to the floor and he cried out at the impact and what it did to his injuries.

Kyle lunged forward, but Saimura, along with one of the remaining guards, restrained him. John blinked away tears in the bright lantern light. “I’m alright,” he whispered to Kyle, whose face stared at him in mingled horror and anguish. “Promise,” John added.

But it had all become too much apparently, for in the next moment the black stars in John’s eyes multiplied until he couldn’t see anything at all and he slumped to the floor with a slide into oblivion.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a reminder to heed the warnings - especially the one for canon-typical violence, which is coming to a head in this chapter. Where is the fluffy dance party that was the first half of this fic? We're definitely not in Kansas anymore. Or Nayeshi, as the case may be.
> 
> Anyway, enough rambling. Thank you again for reading and letting us know your thoughts!

The guard that wasn’t holding Kahlil in a tight grip kicked at John’s unconscious form where he had slumped to the floor. Kahlil snarled and threw his weight against their restraining hands, but he had no leverage in the tight space.

“John,” he called out, desperate to know how badly he was hurt and what had been done. Even in the dim light of the lantern, Kahlil could make out the blood darkening John’s fingers and his matted, sweat-drenched curls. “Let me go,” he demanded of the guards, of Saimura. “He needs help.”

Saimura seemed to consider this for a moment and finally nodded to the other man who held Kahlil. They both released him and Saimura cautioned, “Consider the consequences if you attack my men. He’s in bad shape. We can do worse.”

Kahlil didn’t bother to respond to Saimura’s warning. He fell to his knees in front of John’s body, the impact jarring but insignificant against the overwhelm of seeing John’s injuries. Someone had stripped him of his shirt, and bruises were already starting to blossom across his chest and back. Even unconscious, his breathing had the hitched and uneven quality of trying to breathe around broken ribs. John’s leg, which had crumpled beneath him when he fell, was difficult to see, but Kahlil could make out enough of the broken, pulpy skin to guess that that’s where the blood on John’s hands had come from. He sucked in a breath and reached a tentative hand toward John’s shoulder, running his fingertips gently along the skin.

Touching John here, in this dungeon in Basawar, had a surreal and almost dream-like quality. He still felt just as Kahlil remembered from all the mornings they had woken up tangled together on John’s creaky futon. The skin under Kahlil’s hand was the same creamy-pale, smooth surface that he had traced with his lips, soft and insistent, until John would wake up and kiss him back. Kahlil shivered, and wondered if it wouldn’t be kinder to let John sleep this time. He wouldn’t be waking him to anything like the mornings they had shared in Nayeshi.

“John,” he breathed softly, letting his fingers curl around John’s arm to shake him gently. More than he wanted to give John any merciful sleep, he wanted to see his eyes open and let them reassure him that John was alive, that he would survive. And, Kahlil reasoned, if he didn’t wake John now the guards would do it themselves with their boots and batons. 

A groan slid between John’s chapped lips and his brows furrowed. “Kyle?” he asked softly, almost sleepily, as if everything that had happened in the last day had been a dream. He blinked and opened his blue eyes to look up at Kahlil.

“It’s me,” Kahlil assured John, all too aware of the eyes of the four other men in the room fixed on them. He realized, suddenly, that he needed to shield John from letting his guard down in front of their captors and to steer him away from saying anything revealing. “You passed out. Don’t try too move to quickly.”

“Fuck, this hurts,” John hissed through his teeth when he tried to lift up. Even slowly it was too much for him. 

“Don’t move at all then,” Kahlil assured him, his hand still wrapped around John’s upper arm. Seeing John awake and in pain seemed to transmute all the worry and sorrow that he’d felt welling inside him into a steely rage. 

“What is this worth?” Kahlil demanded, turning to look at Saimura and the other Fai’daum guards. “You want information? You didn’t have to do this.”

Saimura didn’t flinch when he said, “We have to be sure about who you are. About who  _ he  _ is.” His sight ghosted across John’s form--still considerable despite his injuries. 

Kahlil shook his head, letting his disgust show plainly on his face.  _ This is Basawar,  _ he remembered.  _ This is what you brought him into. _ He looked back at John, groping in the weak light to find his hand and squeeze it. He hoped it offered some comfort. “We’ll get through this,” he said in English, his voice low. “Stay strong and keep alert.”

A sharp resolve solidified in John’s eyes and he nodded almost imperceptibly. He squeezed Kahlil’s hand in return and kept quiet. 

A hissed whisper pulled Kahlil’s attention back to Saimura and Parh’itam.  _...told you they were perverts!  _ The priest’s revulsed expression turned their way and Kahlil stiffened. John’s hand in his tightened and a wave of energy shot through the bond they shared. Saimura’s features didn’t change, but his vigilant stare remained. 

“So you’re more than the Payshmura’s lackey,  _ Kahlil _ ,” Parh’itam spat in English. “You’re a sodomite as well.”

Without conscious thought, Kahlil dropped John’s hand and turned his head away. Realizing what he had done, how it betrayed John and only looked even more guilty in the eyes of Parh’itam and the other men gathered around them, he tried to think of some context, some entirely reasonable situation, that would defend their actions. His tongue, when he started to speak, felt heavy and dry and he closed his mouth before he could make a fool of himself and dig them deeper into trouble. He glanced back at John and caught his eye, hoping that he could convey through the look his regret and how truly he didn’t want to disavow their relationship.

John wasn’t looking at him. His piercing stare focused solely on Parh’itam. A pulse of power vibrated in the air around them and an impossible wind rose up, sending grains of dirt and loose scree into disarray. To his credit, Parh’itam merely paled at the display of Rifter energy. Saimura smiled. 

“What we do or don't do together isn’t your business,” John said low, his voice a dark void in the gale building around his collapsed form on the floor. 

The Fai’daum guards in the room shifted their feet and glanced to one another with wide, frightened eyes. 

John’s words shook Kahlil loose from his paralysis, and he glanced around at the vibrating bits of earth that were kicking up in an invisible wind. He remembered their morning on the beach, when the sand had whirled around John like a miniature cyclone. His blue eyes looked darker in the dim light, nearly black against his pale skin, and his fingers, braced against the floor, looked like they might bore directly into the hard-packed earth. Kahlil had never seen him looking so much like the Rifter of the holy scriptures, rage and power that nearly transcended humanity.

“John,” Kahlil spoke his name softly, cringing at his own hesitance. He tried to add steel to his voice. “Are you still here with me?”

The fierce aura around John didn’t diminish with his words, but dark eyes flicked his way, pulling off Parh’itam with obvious reluctance. 

The sense of relief was surprising to Kahlil when it flooded him. This was still John, even at the edge of the precipice that they were both balancing over. “Don’t let it take you from me,” Kahlil said, urgently. There were so many things he should have told John, things about what it meant that he was the destructive incarnation of Parfir. In Nayeshi it had hardly seemed to matter. Everything about Basawar had been distant and theoretical, and later in the rush to go after Laurie there had hardly been time to do more than give John a sketchy outline of where they were going. But there was so much that he didn’t know, things that could be a danger to him and to all of Basawar if Kahlil allowed them to get out of control.

“Don’t lose yourself to the power,” Kahlil added, hoping that John would understand. It seemed hopeless to try to warn him against awakening his Rifter powers without confirming the Fai’daum leader’s suspicions, but he had to try for John’s sake.

Kahlil heard the sound of shifting behind them, and a grunt from one of the Fai’daum guards. He saw from the corner of his eye as, in tandem, they moved around to close in on John from either side. The guards must have been well-trained. They approached as one, and as Kahlil stood to block the guard on his right he heard the man behind him speed up. 

A deafening boom reverberated within the close confines of the room. Before Kahlil could successfully defend against the guard, he was thrown back--slamming into the nearest wall. Groans and curses filled the small space and within seconds, it was clear that everyone else had suffered a similar fate. Everyone except for John, who lay there on the floor glowering at Parh’itam’s and Saimura’s forms pinned against the opposite wall. Their paralysis didn’t last long and within a minute, the effects of the blast lessened and Kahlil could move again. But the swirling wind had grown stronger as he tried to work his way back to John. 

He wasn’t sure that his presence would have any effect, but getting to John became Kahlil’s focus in that moment. The force of the wind in the small chamber whipped strands of hair across his face and rippled through his clothing. He pushed against it as he would push against a solid object, bracing forward with his shoulder into the force.

“John,” Kahlil yelled, but his words were drowned out by the shouts of the other men and the roaring of the gale. He had to squint his eyes against the dust that had been kicked up, but he could see John’s blurred outline. Somehow, the lantern had stayed upright, although the flame was flickering madly in its glass housing, sending shadows dancing around them and adding to the confusion. The space between them wasn’t big - the chamber itself was tiny - but somehow through the dust and the noise, John seemed very far away.

At first, Kahlil thought that the forces of the wind had shifted when he felt a heavy weight behind him bearing him to the ground. When the guard wrenched his hands behind him, he realized what was happening. The two men who had been trying to control John had been swept from their feet as well, but they must have recovered. One guard had Kahlil’s arms locked together behind his back while the other stood poised at Kahlil’s side with a knife pointed at his throat.

Saimura broke through Kahlil’s peripheral vision, striding over to John. The commander knelt and John’s hateful eyes followed every slight movement. Saimura was unphased. He thrust out his hand, curled strong fingers around John’s chin and physically jerked his head in Kahlil’s direction. “You’ll want to pay attention to this, Rifter.”

For the first few seconds, John’s eyes remained on Saimura despite the fact that his head now faced Kahlil’s direction. “Look at him,” Saimura ordered, voice dark and dangerous. 

John did, despite the impossibility that he understood the commander’s language. Saimura’s tone must have been clue enough. The wind stopped.

The guard holding Kahlil’s arms tightened his grip at the sudden change in the room. The abrupt silence rang almost as loudly as the roaring of the wind had. Kahlil tried to breathe shallowly, hardly wanting to move against the tip of the knife that the second guard had brought close enough to rest against the skin of his neck.

Kahlil looked at Saimura, who had a satisfied smile playing across his face at the sudden calm and order in the room. Frustration welled in Kahlil at the sight of the man, standing over John with his fingers still digging into John’s skin. “Don’t begin to think you can control this,” Kahlil warned suddenly, wincing as the knife bit into his skin. “You have absolutely no idea. This means nothing.”

“I think we’ve already established, Kahlil, that  _ you  _ mean something to him,” Saimura said. 

John must have seen the way Kahlil blanched at the words, for his eyes traveled between them, drifting into lucidity and present awareness. “What are you saying?”

Perhaps seeing the confusion on John’s face, Saimura glanced to Parh’itam. “Translate, please,” he said. 

Parh’itam didn’t look happy about it, but he did as the commander asked. “The Kahlil obviously means a great deal to you, Rifter.”

John’s gaze could have cut glass when he shifted his eyes from Saimura to Parh’itam. “As I said before, it’s none of your concern.”

Parh’itam relayed John’s sentiment to the commander.

“Tell him, it will be of great concern to  _ him  _ if he doesn’t behave himself,” Saimura told the priest. 

Parh’itam smiled wickedly and translated. 

John’s eyes widened slightly in alarm. 

Kahlil looked back to Saimura quickly enough to catch the subtle gesture that he made with his hands toward the guards that were holding him. He recognized a motion that looked similar to the Payshmura hand sign for  _ ready _ . Kahlil blinked, and realized that he had parted his lips to speak but hadn’t said anything. How did this man know so much: the Payshmura rituals, the scriptures, how to awaken the Rifter? Saimura seemed to know exactly what he was doing.

At Saimura’s command, the two guards restraining Kahlil began to shift. Slowly, carefully, he felt the weight of the man behind him lessen, and then he was being pushed down further toward the floor. With his hands still being gripped by the guard, Kahlil fell forward onto his face, his entire upper body pressed into the dirt. He bucked against the weight instinctively, but the second guard put his booted foot on the back of Kahlil’s head. 

John jerked to move toward Kahlil, but Saimura’s hand on his face swiftly altered position to his shoulder. With John’s injuries and his Rifter powers calmed, it took only Saimura’s strong body to restrain him. 

“Kyle!” John shouted. 

Parh’itam glanced nervously toward Saimura, but the commander seemed unphased and entirely confident in their positions. “Explain to him that if he doesn’t settle down and remain calm, we’ll kill his Kahlil. In this room, there is no escape into the Gray Space.”

John struggled against his hold, but Saimura held firm. 

“Be  _ still _ !” Parh’itam hissed in English. “The commander wants to inform you that your Kahlil has nowhere to run. We’ll kill him if you don’t behave yourself.”

John’s movements ceased and he slumped beneath the commander’s arms. “Please...leave him out of this. Don’t hurt him.”

John’s voice sounded so soft and thin in that moment, and it took the weight of both Fai’daum guards pressing him into the ground to keep Kahlil from going to John and reassuring him. Hadn’t it been just moments ago that he had drawn his fingertips slowly against the skin of John’s bare shoulder? He wanted that again, so suddenly and intensely that it felt as though a fire had been lit inside him.

He couldn’t move against the weight of the men though, couldn’t even shift his head to get a better angle to look at John from. “I’ll be fine, John,” he coughed against the dirt. “Whatever they do. Don’t let them scare you.” Given the state of John’s own leg, Kahlil was fairly certain there were things they might do to him that would be far from fine, but he wanted to reassure John more than he feared their tortures.

The men restraining him moved again. In some fast, silent negotiation, they transferred their grip of his hands so that each of them was holding one. The guard with the knife took his boot from the back of Kahlil’s head and replaced it on his left arm, which he pulled out so that it lay along the floor. The man was standing in front of him now, his expression cold and distant. He met Kahlil’s eyes for a moment and Kahlil recognized him as one of the men who had ambushed them in the forest, the man with the thin face and light green eyes. Kahlil glared at him, hoping his hate and disdain were conveyed through his gaze.

“Consider this punishment for your escape attempt earlier,” Saimura said, Parh’itam translating for John. 

John renewed his struggle against the arms around him, but the commander was far stronger than he looked. “No-- _ No _ ! Kyle!”

Kahlil watched the guard in front of him sheath the large blade he held into his belt with a quick, practiced motion and pull out a much smaller weapon. This knife was short and wickedly curved, the blade coming to a dramatic crest and the metal edge glinting in the lantern light.

Kahlil would not close his eyes, no matter what the man did with this knife. If John was going to have to watch this, then he would watch too. Hadn’t he brought John here and led them into this trap? He gave a last, desperate heave against the boot that was pinning his arm, but the man simply ground it further into Kahlil’s elbow. 

“Don’t move,” the guard hissed in Basawar. “Or my knife might slip.” When he reached down Kahlil’s arm and pushed his left hand into the dirt, fingers splayed, Kahlil heeded his warning. He felt immobile suddenly, dread clenching his jaw and warring with the knowledge that everything would be easier if he could slow his heart rate and relax his tightened muscles. Carefully, the man angled his short knife between Kahlil’s fingers, slipping the blade deftly under the first and second and coming to rest just atop his ring finger. 

Kahlil sucked in a breath, and the man shifted his weight, bearing down against the knife in a quick and decisive motion. He watched as the metal blade bit into the floor of the cell.

***

 

Kyle’s finger lay at an incongruous angle to the rest of his hand; severed. John’s lips parted. It had been so quick--so fast and permanent--and all Kyle did as he was being mutilated was grunt and blink at the sight. Kyle’s skin had gone a pale shade that John had never seen on him before and a haze clouded his eyes. Blood gushed from the wound, spreading lazily over the dirt floor of the cell. From the source of the red flow, John could see the pearly white knob of bone peeking through. 

The guard who’d committed the act cleaned his knife on Kyle’s clothing, then sheathed it. He moved away slightly, giving John a better view, but still kept his vigilance. John’s body suddenly felt very cold and very alert. 

“Take your hands off me,” he said quietly. 

He knew if he let the Rifter within take control in this moment, Saimura would make good on his threat of killing Kyle. The finger had proven that much. So John grew as still as a gravestone and tried to quell the cauldron of rage in the pit of his stomach that threatened to take over his senses. 

Parh’itam said something to Saimura in Basawar. John assumed it was a translation of what he’d ordered, because a second or two later, Saimura let him go. The two of them continued to speak, but John ignored them in favor of getting to Kyle. His entire focus narrowed in that moment to the man before him. But as he half-crawled across the dirt floor, two pairs of strong hands took hold of him from behind and jerked him upright. John thought to protest, but he immediately stilled. The only thing he’d get from protesting physically was a bullet in Kyle’s head or a knife to his throat. 

It took ample maneuvering, but the two Fai’daum guards finally got him up into a half-standing posture that leaned heavily on his left leg for support. Saimura was standing again as well and regarding him with something akin to approval in his eyes. Beside the commander, Parh’itam barked something to the guards in Basawar.

John hoped there weren’t copious implements of torture residing in the place they led him. These Fai’daum insurgents had proven both with him and with Kyle that they were more than happy to hurt people to achieve their ends. His eyes never left Kyle’s bowed head as they pushed John roughly toward the door. Parh’itam went ahead and opened it, holding it ajar for the guards to force John through. 

He couldn’t let them take him away before he tried to speak to Kyle. There was no telling what was about to happen to the two of them. This could be his last chance. 

He groaned internally. His last words should be profound and meaningful, but he couldn’t say what he really wanted to with Parh’itam listening in on their every English word.

John craned his neck back as they pushed him farther through the threshold and said, “I’ll see you again soon.”

Kyle hadn’t moved from where the guards had left him. He had merely drawn his arms back and was curled protectively over his left hand, which still rested on the ground in a spreading pool of blood. At the sound of John’s voice, he raised his head. His eyes looked fever-bright and inky black at the same time, stark against his pale face. He jerked his head in a slight and shaky nod, his lips parting to breathe out “Soon.” John hardly managed to catch the sound.

A hard lump formed in John’s chest when he was pushed beyond sight of Kyle and he reluctantly turned his head toward the dark hallway they forced him down. Parh’itam skirted around them and led the way to a cell five doors down from Kyle’s, the lantern from the other room swinging on his arm. John tried not to panic as they pushed him inside once the door was unlocked. 

There were no words or ceremony upon his entry. They simply left him in the spartan confines and shut the door with a  _ snick.  _ All light disappeared and John backed up to the far wall. For several moments, he simply stood there, feeling the cool bulwark seep into his back, lending him some earthen power to accept what had just happened to the man he loved. He closed his eyes, but there was no difference in light between having them open and closed. It was utterly black within the cell. 

Love.

He really did love Kyle, didn’t he? How had it taken him so long to admit it to himself? And when had things bloomed from like into love? For once, John didn’t want to overanalyze the origins of this realization. He simply let it be a gleaming star of truth in his heart to brighten the dark hole they’d put him in. 

After his personal revelation sunk in, he slid down the wall until he could sit on the dirt floor and extend his aching leg. It didn’t hurt as much as before and when he reached out a hand to run along the mangled flesh, he was utterly shocked to feel a sound shin bone and muscle wrapping around it. 

John gasped. 

How could that be possible? He’d been sure not an hour ago that he would never walk properly again and now his leg felt...normal? He didn’t get the chance to ponder it further because the door opened to reveal Parh’itam and Saimura. John sneered at them. He wasn’t sure he could stand anything else having to do with those men at the moment. The one saving grace was that Parh’itam brought the lantern with him again so John wasn’t in darkness for whatever this conversation would hold. 

Parh’itam, lantern in hand, strode across the small space to stand directly over John. Saimura was hanging back, leaning against the doorframe in an incongruously casual way amidst the violence of the past hour.

“We hope you understand now the leverage that we have.” Parh’itam’s voice was soft, almost sing-song in its cadence. “Maybe you will be more willing to cooperate, knowing that we will not hesitate to harm him again.”

If John had a knife on him, he would have stabbed the priest in the gut. “What do you want?” he asked, knowing he was powerless at the moment. 

Parh’itam turned his head back to translate John’s words, and received a satisfied smile from Saimura at whatever he said. Saimura spoke slowly when he responded, as though he were thinking carefully over his answer. Parh’itam turned back to John. “To be free of the Payshmura and their soldiers,” he translated, his voice softening. “But in the meantime we will settle for information. We want to know why the Church let their favorite dog roam so far from home with their most sacred prize. What were you and the Kahlil doing in Fai’daum territory?”

John’s lip curled at the disrespect that Parh’itam showed Kyle, but he let it go in favor of saying, “We were on our way to some city in the South. We’re looking for my friend.”

Another spatter of translation and Parh’itam spoke again. “Nurjima? What friend would you have in Nurjima?” 

He slowly stood up, not liking the advantage that Parh’itam had in his looming position. At his full height, John stood a complete head and a half taller and it made him feel more secure as he said, “A friend from Ear--from Nayeshi. She was brought here by a man from Basawar.”

“The Kahlil brought another person through the Great Gate with you?” Parh’itam seemed shaken at John’s words; he hadn’t even waited for a translation from Saimura before he asked. Hastily, he turned to Saimura to translate what had been said and then looked back at John expectantly.

“What? No--” John pulled Parh’itam around by the shoulder and bowed his head to catch the priest’s dark eyes. “No. Kyl--the  _ Kahlil _ \--didn’t bring anyone else with him. Just me. This man was someone else. I think his name was…” John trailed off and while he thought, Parh’itam glowered at the big hand on his shoulder. John removed it once he found the mental tether to Rousma’s words back at their house on Indian Street. “Fikiri. The man’s name is Fikiri.”

Behind Parh’itam, Saimura stiffened in the doorway. Hazel eyes sharpened on John and the first intelligible words John had heard out of his mouth were, “Fikiri Bousim?”

Hearing Saimura say Fikiri’s name in the thick, and admittedly beautiful, Basawar accent was strange. John nodded to the commander and looked back to the priest. 

Parh’itam exchanged another hurried conversation with Saimura, then asked John “Who is this friend that you say Fikiri Bousim brought here from Nayeshi?”

John was extremely hesitant to give them Laurie’s name. What if they ended up coming across her and did to her what they’d done to him and Kyle? Then again, if he avoided giving Parh’itam her name, would they torture Kyle until he did? An impossible conflict gripped his chest and hurt all the way to his sore ribs. “What will you do if you know who she is?”

The two men spoke again. Parh’itam seemed to be doing more than just relaying John’s question and Saimura’s answer. Their exchange went back and forth for several minutes, with Parh’itam finally seeming to concede with a shake of his head. “We can do nothing to your friend if she is with the Payshmura in Nurjima,” Parh’itam said. “The Black Tower is too well-guarded. We make no guarantees, however, if this woman comes onto Fai’daum lands.”

Not exactly a comfort. John knew he had to make a choice, but it felt like a trade in his mind. Laurie’s name for Kyle’s safety. It was an impossible decision. But what if they could escape? What if he and Kyle could get out of here and the Fai’daum might have heard something of Laurie’s whereabouts that they could exploit? He closed his eyes and inhaled for a moment.  _ I’m sorry, Laurie, _ he sent into the void. 

“Her name is Laurie,” he said. 

Parh’itam’s eyes narrowed at John and he said nothing for a moment. Finally, he turned and translated and again the two men spoke back and forth to each other before Parh’itam said in English, “Her name is irrelevant. We need to know why she is here. Why did Fikiri Bousim bring her here?”

John’s shoulders sank. Though the priest could be a good liar, John felt the dismissive bite in his voice over Laurie’s name meant he hadn’t heard of it. “I don’t know why he brought her here,” John told them, trying to sound honest. The last thing they needed was for Parh’itam to know there were  _ two  _ Rifters for the Fai’daum to torture. 

“Do not forget that the Kahlil’s safety is bought at the cost of your honesty. Losing a single finger is nothing to what we could do to him if you do not tell us the truth.” Parh’itam’s eyes had narrowed at John’s response, and translated Saimura’s words without turning to look at the commander. He kept his gaze fixed on John.

“I’m telling you, I don’t know,” John said, exasperated--and in truth, he really  _ didn’t  _ know what purpose the Payshmura had for bringing Laurie to Basawar. Kyle had told him that the Payshmura used the Rifters to bring about destruction, but to what end? The Fai’daum’s demise? That of the world? He felt better about the tone in his voice, for it rang true, even to him. 

Parh’itam sneered and relayed John’s response to Saimura. “What do you know, I wonder?” he asked. “Do you know when this friend of your arrived here with Fikiri Bousim? Do you know where they came through the Great Gate? How do you know they would go to Nurjima?” He spat his questions out rapidly, but the overall impression was of derision more than urgency.

John rolled his eyes and ran his bloody fingers through his hair. “Look, I’ve told you all I know. My friend Laurie was taken from Nayeshi through this Great Gate, or whatever, and we suspect he’s taking her to Nurjima. The Kahlil seemed to think that made sense. I don’t know why. I don’t know a damned thing about this place!”

His blood felt hot in his skin and he felt dangerously close to building up that pulsating power that had gotten them in so much trouble earlier. He needed to calm down. He knew he did, but it was so difficult. If he could only control the power he possessed, he could probably help them escape right this minute, but he couldn’t control it. He didn’t even know what  _ it  _ was. 

Perhaps Saimura realized how far Parh’itam’s questions had pushed John and how frustrated both men were getting. He put a hand on the priest’s shoulder and spoke in a soft, calm voice into the other man’s ear. Parh’itam responded in Basawar and again the two men went back and forth while John watched, uncomprehending.

Finally, Parh’itam turned back to John. “He says that he believes you,” Parh’itam said in a resigned voice. “He wanted you to know that your information lines up with other credible reports that we have received.” 

It was the balm he needed. The power receded to wherever it went when John wasn’t about to explode and he felt more himself. “Good,” he said, a little stiffly. “What will happen to us now?”

“You will stay here until we need you again,” Parh’itam said immediately. He quickly translated and added “We’re afraid we will need to keep you and your Kahlil with us. We are at war with the Payshmura Church, and even if you tell the truth about your crossing it does not mean that you would not go straight to the Black Tower once you gained your freedom. No, I’m afraid you’ll be enduring our hospitality for as long as we need you.” Parh’itam finished speaking with a smirk at John.

He felt a grim resignation fester in his stomach and he glared at the priest, saying nothing. When his eyes moved off Parh’itam, he realized Saimura was staring at him with an odd expression. John couldn’t think of anything else to say and was so very tired. Without asking if they were done, he went back to his chosen section of wall and slid down until he was sitting again. He stretched out his long legs and they almost reached the wall with the door across from him. 

“Can I get some rest?” he finally asked. “If that’s not too much trouble?”

Parh’itam glanced at Saimura for confirmation, then jerked his head in a vague approximation of a bow or a nod. Maybe it meant something different in Basawar, but whatever it meant both men seemed to agree that they had gotten whatever they wanted from John. Saimura left then, with Parh’itam close on his heels. The translator stopped at the doorway, the lantern in one hand and the other resting on the jamb, to turn momentarily back to John. “You bought one night of safety for him. Let us hope you remember the importance of honesty. I’m sure that the Kahlil will not quickly forget what it costs.” With that, he swept out and pulled the thick door firmly shut behind himself.

Full darkness swallowed John whole and he let his head fall back against the stoney wall. At first, the priest’s terrible words didn’t penetrate. But after several moments of the dark and the quiet, they slithered into his mind and John couldn’t get them out of his head.  _ The Kahlil will not quickly forget what it costs _ … John closed his eyes and tried to shut out the memory of Kyle’s finger laying severed from his body. Tried to forget the pale tinge to his skin and the way he’d tried so hard to be brave for John in that moment. 

What had he gotten them into? It had been John’s insistence that had led them to Basawar--his hatred for Fikiri and his love for his friend had blinded him. Now they were behind enemy lines with no help and no ideas for how they would escape. The only thing they could do now was play the game, bide their time, and take the first chance they got to get out of here. John clenched his hands into fists and felt that nascent power again as it swelled into his fingers and palms. 

It was just there...writhing beneath the surface--coiling to spring and spoiling for a fight in a way he’d never felt emotionally. It frightened him, for he had no idea how he could control such a beast. It had never been like this on Earth. What lurked in him now was strange and other. It would control  _ him _ and no question.

Perhaps that was the way out. Learning to control his power. But if they kept him and Kyle separated, how would he learn? Kyle was his only resource here for knowledge on being the Rifter. He’d already seen how the Fai’daum planned to bring out his destructive energy. Pain. And their method for keeping him on a leash? Kyle’s pain. 

The power in his hands had quieted with that thought. Even the image of Kyle alone in the dark, bloodied and tired, was enough to extinguish the fight in him. Had they conditioned him so quickly? 

To give himself hope, John sat there in the pitch and replayed the words they’d exchanged just before they pushed him out of Kyle’s cell.  _ I’ll see you again soon… _ and Kyle’s reply... _ Soon.  _ They would escape this. John felt sure of it. 

But how much damage would be done to them before they made it out? That question haunted him all throughout the long night. 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, lovely readers! Thank you for your patience between chapters. The holidays have been crazy for us both (and you all, we're sure). We hope you enjoy this chapter. Thank you for our sweet comments on our previous chapters. They make us both so happy! :D

It was impossible to tell how much time had passed in the darkness of the chamber, but Kahlil sensed that it had been more than a few hours. The blood that had soaked through the cloth of his shirt, which he had carefully shrugged out of and wrapped around his hand the moment the guards had filed out, had dried long ago, leaving the fabric stiff and unable to absorb anything more. It was lucky that the wound seemed to have stopped bleeding, the empty space between his middle and pinky fingers a tender and scabbed void that he couldn’t help but prod at gingerly with his right hand.

As the bleeding had grown sluggish and eventually tapered off, the pain had seemed to mount. Kahlil forced himself to breathe through it, recognizing that there was nothing else he could do at this point. No amount of cursing or pacing the room would help, and anyway he didn’t feel entirely steady enough on his feet to stand for more than a moment or two. As soon as the guards, the Fai’daum commander, and his translator had left with John, Kahlil had forced himself to lift his head. After the initial instinct to pull his hand in, to curl around it and to protect himself from further damage, had sent a wave of nauseating pain lancing up his arm, he had been loath to move it again. He had blinked into the darkness, willing himself to pick his hand up from the dirt floor, knowing that it wouldn’t be helpful to leave the wound exposed and dirty. It had been surprisingly difficult to force his arm to cooperate, but eventually he had managed to get himself into a better position, half-sitting and half-collapsed against one corner of the chamber, where he could bunch the fabric of his shirt against the bleeding stump.

He thought he had fallen asleep at one point; he remembered that he had dreamed of Rousma. She was licking his hand where it dangled off his army cot and telling him to wake up, that John wanted to see him soon. He had woken up gasping, not sure if he had been asleep for hours or just a few feverish moments. The air in the tiny room had become thick and wet, all the heat of the Basawar summer and his own sweat and exhalations trapped in one small space. Kahlil didn’t let himself think about it, but there was so little else aside from the pain and his breaths. He made himself think about John instead, but not the last few times they had seen each other frightened and pained. He thought about the sharply bitter taste of the bourbon on John’s tongue when they had kissed at the nightclub, and the faint smell of cologne that always lingered on John’s sheets in his bedroom in Nayeshi. Kahlil could smell John in the bed, even when John had gotten up to make coffee and left Kahlil to sleep just a few minutes longer. It proved to be a surprisingly excellent distraction, so when the door to the chamber opened, letting in a rush of cooler, fresher air, it took Kahlil a moment to draw himself back from the memories.

Bright lantern light preceded Saimura, who looked grim and more serious than Kahlil remembered. His auburn hair looked like burnished bronze in the pale, harsh light. Without preamble, the commander said, “We’re leaving.” 

Kahlil’s eyes had begun to water in the sudden brightness, so he turned his head away from the source. Saimura’s entrance and his brusque tone felt unexpected, but Kahlil realized that it was ridiculous to have any expectations of the Fai’daum at this point other than to torment him and John in their attempt to control the Rifter. That had to be what they were doing, right? Kahlil groaned, and raised his blood-crusted right hand to scrub at his eyes. It felt difficult, suddenly, to sort out his thoughts into anything cohesive or useful.

“Where’s John?” was all he managed to croak out as he turned his face back into the light. Worry for John felt like a lifeline, a thread of normalcy to hold to amidst the confusion.

“Waiting for transport. As I said, we’re leaving, and you two are coming with us,” Saimura told him. His tone was clipped and short and Kahlil could see dark half-moons under his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept. When Kahlil made no move to rise, Saimura arched an elegant brow. “I can have my guards come drag you out if you’re unable to stand and walk.”

Kahlil huffed a silent laugh at Saimura’s words. “No doubt you can,” he gritted out as he pushed himself to his feet. He rose slowly, buying himself time to scan Saimura for weapons or tricks. Even not knowing where he would be taken after this, the relief at leaving this chamber and all the memories that it stirred, was like a physical sensation of lightness. “Is it worth asking why I’m being forced to leave my comfortable corner?” He couldn’t stop the cynical tone from creeping into his words, and he bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from saying more.

Saimura narrowed his eyes and answered, “The Payshmura are gathering in Nurjima. We’re heading that way to get a better idea of what’s going on. It would be foolish of me to let you and your lover out of my sight. Easier to bring you along than leave you here and fear that you will escape without proper attention.”

The words cut through the fog in Kahlil’s mind so sharply that he sucked in a breath before he even realized he had done it. No innuendos and no excuses, just a frank admission of something that Kahlil wasn’t entirely surprised that Saimura had picked up on. More surprising was the expression of the other man’s face: entirely calm and neutral, as if what he had just said carried no more weight than the distinction of being from the city or the outlying farmland. Kahlil swallowed the instinctual fear that had risen in him, and tried to consider the other words that Saimura had spoken.

The Fai’daum wanted to head to Nurjima, probably to capitalize on the possibility of attacking the church when there were so many priests and attendants gathered together in one place. That was fine with Kahlil; Nurjima is where they had been heading in the first place. Once he was out of this room, it would be easier - possible at least - to slip away into Gray Space and from there to free John and finish what they had set out to do. He pursed his lips against a smile. If Saimura wanted to make it easier for them, that was fine with him.

When Kahlil didn’t say anything, Saimura reached behind his back and pulled out a set of iron cuffs. “You understand,” he said cocking his head. 

Kahlil raised an eyebrow at the heavy manacles, separated by a few links of chain. He huffed a short breath and pushed himself forward away from the wall, blinking against the vertigo that set the ground listing under his feet when he wasn’t bracing against something solid. He wondered at the restraints, uncertain if the Fai’daum realized how ineffectual they would be outside of this room, until he remembered the net they had used to restrain him in the forest. “I don’t think I’m the first ushiri you’ve captured,” Kahlil observed as he let Saimura lock the cuffs around his wrists.

Saimura smiled as he finished with the cuffs. It was strange how gentle the commander could seem--it was a stark contrast to the brutality Kahlil knew he was capable of. “We have captured many ushiri’im.” Here, Saimura held up a finger and slipped his arm through the cracked doorway. When his arm drew back inside, it held the bundled up net.

With a rueful shake of his head, Kahlil acquiesced to the net being slipped over his head and secured behind his back. It was large enough the it dragged on the ground, tangling at his feet. It would be difficult, maybe impossible to walk far without falling over. Kahlil felt the tension in his muscles, his clenched right fist, his gritted teeth. It was difficult not to move, to allow himself to be bound, but he knew that his chances of slipping his captors were infinitely better outside of this chamber.

“How is it possible?” Kahlil asked Saimura. “How did you even work out the creation of this chamber, or a net that can hold an ushiri? I thought only the Church knew these things.”

Hazel eyes flicked up to meet his and Saimura said softly, “I had a good teacher once, long ago. And it’s no surprise to you, after meeting Parh’itam, that we have Payshmura defectors in our midst.”

Kahlil narrowed his eyes at Saimura’s reticence, but didn’t push the question further. He wasn’t sure it really mattered how the Fai’daum learned to hold ushiri’im, only that they had learned it. 

Saimura led him by his manacled hands out the door of the chamber. They moved with unbearable slowness, the net hampering Kahlil’s every step forward. Staying on his feet also proved to be more straining on his wounded hand than he had expected; the scab had loosened and blood had begun to seep out again, dripping down his wrist and smearing across his bare chest. By the time Saimura had led him into a small courtyard where the night sky glowed an indeterminate gray-blue, Kahlil was breathing as heavily as if he had just run up the mountain at Rathal’pesha.

“You will have time to rest on the way. I’ll see to it that you have a bandage for that,” Saimura said, waving toward his bleeding hand.

The scrape of wood against stone cut into the quiet of the courtyard as the gate started to swing open. Kahlil felt desperate, suddenly, to sit. His legs trembled under him and the dizzying movement of the ground beneath him set his stomach roiling. As he tried not to sway or lose his footing, a large wooden carriage, pulled by two tahldi and driven by a Fai’daum soldier in red, passed under the stone arch of the gate and came to a stop inside the courtyard. The night air felt brisk against his skin as a breeze followed the carriage through the gate. He turned back to Saimura. “I’ll take a shirt if you have one, as well.” 

The commander regarded his state of undress with some consideration. “A shirt as well, then.” Saimura turned and waved a hand for a Fai’daum guard to come attend to Kahlil. One of the young men around the perimeter of the courtyard leapt to attention and dashed over to Saimura’s side. 

“Yes, commander?” he asked, eyes bright to please. 

“Please get a shirt and a bandage for the Kahlil,” Saimura ordered. “Be quick about it.”

The soldier gave a bow to the commander and sped off in a run. 

Kahlil kept his eyes on the ground, doing everything he could to keep the vertigo at bay. He smiled, though, at Saimura’s half order, half request. The Fai’daum commander was kind to his soldiers, Kahlil had to admit. He tried to imagine Dayyid prefacing any command with a ‘please’ and failed miserably.

Saimura tugged at the cuffs on Kahlil’s wrists and led him to the carriage. The door swung open at the pull of another guard, this one a stout young woman holding a rifle cradled in her arms. “In,” she ordered, her voice low and confident. Kahlil stepped up onto the wooden box that had been placed below the carriage door and ducked inside. It was dark, although not as dark as the underground chamber had been. Kahlil groped with his hands as well as he could through the net, but the entire space inside the carriage seemed to be empty. He sunk to the floor without preamble, alarmingly glad to be off his feet even if it was in another prison.

Outside the carriage, Saimura told the young woman, “Close it up and lock it until we bring out the other one. It won’t be long.”

“Yes, sir,” she said in that same strong voice.

Kahlil felt the carriage sway as the soldier stepped inside and pulled the door closed. She fumbled a bit in the semi-darkness before lighting a lantern, holding it close to the locking mechanism, and securing the door. Kahlil decided to ignore her in favor of the throbbing pain that was radiating up his left hand. He closed his eyes and tipped his head back to rest against the wooden wall. Now that he was free of the spelled chamber, he should be searching for every opportunity to escape, to find a weakness in the net that bound him and slip away into Gray Space. He would do that, he assured himself, just after he took a moment here to collect himself. It would be better to wait until he knew where John was anyway. It would make everything easier.

He drew his knees up and rested his hands against his legs. His left hand seemed to have stopped bleeding again, which was good because he had no more fabric to staunch it. It felt different now though, tighter and more swollen. The fingers on either side of the wound would only bend about halfway in when he tried to make a fist, stopped by the swelling and the stiffness.

Saimura had said that the Fai’daum were taking them toward Nurjima, Kahlil remembered suddenly. He fixed that thought in his mind, hoping that he could tell John soon. It seemed as though their captors aims were lining up well with their own. The closer they were to Nurjima when they slipped away, the less ground they would have to cross on foot. Kahlil smiled and silently thanked the Fai’daum commander for the free ride. He glanced through the ropes that hung across his face to see if the young soldier had noticed his expression, but she was looking out the small, barred window in the door of the carriage, her eyes fixed on something across the courtyard.

Kahlil heard muffled voices, the sounds of men who are trying to stay quiet and move quickly at the same time. He shifted to sit more upright and closed his eyes against another wave of dizziness. He couldn’t see anything from his vantage point on the carriage floor, but he watched the guard’s eyes as they tracked across the courtyard.

A hard knock echoed through the space and the guard unlocked the door, pushing it outward. John’s tall frame was revealed in the lantern light. He, too, was manacled, but there was no need for a net with him. Kahlil huffed out a laugh at the thought that the shackles could ever truly hold John if he chose to get out of them. Their eyes met and John’s were filled with concern. 

“Are you alright, Kyle?” he asked, his voice low. 

One of John’s two guards outside the carriage smacked John across the face and spat, “Hold your tongue.”

John wouldn’t understand the words, but he got the meaning well enough and remained silent as they pushed him into the confines of the carriage to join Kahlil. 

The sight of John and the sound of his voice were like the reverberation of an earthquake in his bones. Kahlil felt hot tears welling in his eyes, overwhelmed suddenly by the enormous sense of relief at seeing John, his tall frame whole and his wounds already healing to barely perceptible bruising. He wanted to stand up, to look less cowed and defeated within the confining ropes of the net, but he knew if he tried to stand now he would only get himself more hopelessly tangled. He tipped his head up instead, and did his best to smile crookedly. He wondered if John could see his face in the dim glow of the Basawar night sky. “Not soon enough, I think,” Kahlil said, echoing their words from before. “But better than never.”

 

***

 

Kyle looked terrible in the pale glow from the carriage guard’s lantern. His cheeks were flushed and a slick sheen of sweat gleamed on his forehead. In that moment, John didn’t care if the guard punished him. He reached out a hand and pressed it over the netting to cup Kyle’s cheek. 

“You never answered,” John reminded him. “Are you alright?”

Kyle’s lips parted, but before he could say anything, John felt the muzzle of the guard’s rifle dig into his cheek. His eyes cut to the left and she smirked. A string of Basawar words came out of her mouth, but John didn’t need to understand them to know he had crossed some line. With extreme disappointment, he withdrew his hand and simply looked at Kyle, trying to drink in his presence. He didn’t look at the bloodied hand. Not yet. 

He heard Kyle swallow and his eyes dropped, the lashes fanning dark against his cheeks. “I’m fine,” he rasped, his voice sounding dry and unused despite having spoken only a moment ago. “Are you? Alright?”

John nodded without considering whether he was or not. In that moment, he wanted to comfort Kyle whatever the actual state of his body might be. “I’m fine,” he echoed. 

He wanted to say more, but a knock sounded on the carriage door and the guard opened it on a young Fai’daum guard in red. He was holding a bundle of cloth and strips of white linen. John wondered what they were for until he glanced at Kyle again and noted, with some annoyance, that Kyle was shirtless and shivering in the cool night air. He finally looked to the left hand Kyle held just so near his chest. The bloodied stump looked angry and red. 

A swell of guilt grew in John’s chest and he turned his head away for a moment, trying to quell it. It was the Fai’daum who had done this to them, after all. John couldn’t help what he was--or that his outburst in the cell had led to Kyle’s wound--but he still felt responsible. 

The new guard passed off the bandages and shirt to the interior guard and she tossed them unceremoniously into Kyle’s face with a casual glance. John’s anger at the insurgents dialed up a notch at the sight. 

“I don’t think I’ll be able to do much with those,” Kyle muttered so that only John would hear. “They’re not going to let me out from under this net.”

“Or unshackle you…” John added. 

He stared at the bundle of white that had fallen at Kyle’s feet where they were scrunched up close to his body beneath the net. John’s eyes drifted to the guard as he reached for them. She gave him a tight nod of permission, but kept boring holes into him with her eyes as he raised the shirt and bandages to untangle them. 

“I don’t have anything to clean your hand with,” John lamented. 

John was close enough to Kyle now to see the dirt that mingled with the dried blood on his hand. The skin around the wound that was visible looked puffy and red. He drew his eyes up to Kyle’s face and noticed that it was drawn, dark circles ringing his eyes.

“It’s fine, John. It stopped bleeding, at least,” Kyle said. He gazed at the dirty wound for a moment and then looked back up at John. “I do wish I could reach through the net though. I don’t think my hands could slip through.”

He tried to reassure Kyle with a tender smile, but he felt sure he was grimacing. John could feel his blood pressure beginning to rise and along with it, that tingling pulse he’d come to recognize as his Rifter nature taking over. He tried to breathe through it and as he did, he took the bandages and slipped a few fingers through the holes in the net to tend to Kyle’s cuffed hand. He knew it would hurt Kyle to tie the stretch of linen around the severed digit, so he did it fast and efficiently in order to make the pain as short as possible. 

“Sorry,” he said softly. “Almost done.”

Kyle’s breaths were short and fast, and he was biting his lip by the time John finished, but he smiled wanly at John. “Thanks. I thought it would hurt less when the bleeding stopped.” He shook his head vaguely, either in disappointment or a futile attempt to shake the lank strands of dark hair off his face. John noticed that his eyes kept flicking toward the guard who stood at attention at the carriage door.

John figured Kyle was worried about their soft words and the lingering touch John had on Kyle’s forearm. “I won’t let them hurt you again,” John whispered, running the pads of his fingertips along Kyle’s feverish skin. Next, he took the shirt the guard had given and forced it through a hole in the net to drape across Kyle’s chest. The shackles kept him from being able to put it on, but maybe this would help him get warm. 

The guard at the carriage door nodded to the interior guard and she swung the door shut, locking it. Another latch sounded on the outside--John figured there were two locking mechanisms between them and the outside world and exhaled. Escaping from this situation with Kyle in the shape he was would not be easy. 

“They’re taking us toward Nurjima,” Kyle said quietly, while the guard was turned away. “They heard that the Payshmura are gathering there.”

“Isn’t that the same place we were heading before they captured us?” John asked. 

Kyle managed a small smile at that. “It is,” he agreed. “It will probably take a few days to reach the city if they’re trying to move without attracting attention, but that will give us time.”

Kyle didn’t have to say  _ to escape.  _ John knew it had to be on Kyle’s mind as much as it was on his own. Before he could say anything else, a sharp crack rang outside of the carriage and a jolt snapped through the wood. They started moving. John almost fell backwards into the side, but managed to stay upright. He was more worried about Kyle hitting his head on the wood of the box they were in, but thankfully, he had managed to remain steady, too. 

They didn’t speak much for the next several hours. The guard across from them sat whittling something with a wicked little knife by lantern light--potentially to intimidate them, John didn’t know--and by the time John felt sure it was night again outside the carriage, she had completed a miniature animal of some sort. If circumstances had been different, he might have complimented her work, but given that she was there to shoot them on sight if they tried to escape, he didn’t feel so inclined. 

In the flickering light, John’s eyes kept resting on Kyle every few moments. He had barely spoken all day and that glimmering sheen of sweat from earlier had become earnest beads that ran down his face. Persistent shivers ran through his body and John’s worry tripled with the sight. 

“Kyle,” he whispered, scooting closer to him. “Are you awake?”

“John?” Kyle’s reply was a dry croak when it emerged. His eyes fluttered open, but only a crack. John could see the fever brightness in them even so. “Are we on the train?”

Alarm seeped into the edges of John’s chest and he put a hand on Kyle’s netted shoulder. “We’re in the carriage, Kyle. On our way to Nurjima. Do you remember now?”

“Right,” Kyle agreed, with a tiny huff of a laugh. He shook his head, then tried to rub his face against his shoulder. “I was dreaming, I think. I haven’t been on a train since--in years.”

John wanted to ask more about that, but before he could, the carriage pulled to a stop. Tremors ran throughout the frame and the three of them rocked with the chassis as it all went slowly still. After a few minutes, someone knocked on the outside of the box and unlocked the outer mechanism. Their guard unlocked the inner one and opened the door. Words were exchanged in quick Basawar and she turned around and jerked her head with another phrase. 

John looked to Kyle with raised eyebrows. “I suppose it’s too much to think they’re going to let us run free?”

Kyle lifted his head from where it had been tipped back against the carriage wall. He was watching the guard again, eyes wary. “She said ‘get out’,” he translated. “And reminded us that she will have her gun ready and not to do anything suspicious.” He winced as he shifted his weight under himself, trying to stand beneath the tangle of netting.

“Here, let me help,” John said, moving in to assist Kyle in his shambling attempt to move upright. 

Kyle merely smiled, all his energy focused, perhaps, on moving without falling over. John had a hand at his elbow and the warm link of their bond comforted him in that moment. He had no idea what they might face outside the carriage. According to Kyle, it would take days to reach Nurjima. They couldn’t be there yet. Perhaps this was a stop to water those strange animals they used instead of horses? 

Once they were outside under the watchful eye of their guard, John saw his guess had been correct. They were in some sort of outpost lit by torchlights near a stone well. The Fai’daum were filling troughs from a water bucket out of the well and the animals had been unhitched and led to the area around it. John and Kyle were led to the treeline surrounding the clearing and given the opportunity to relieve themselves and drink from canteens their guard procured for them. After several minutes, Saimura walked over--alone--and smiled. 

He gave the guard an appraising nod and she stood up a bit straighter beneath his glance. More words John couldn’t understand passed between them and she strode away toward the well with the canteens. His gaze fell on John then and to Kyle. He said something else and Kyle stiffened. 

“I can’t understand you,” John sighed, frustration seeping into his voice. 

Kyle was standing, but he was leaning heavily against John, the bare skin of his arm pressing heat through John’s clothing. He didn’t shift at John’s words. His eyes stayed locked on Saimura, but he spoke to John. “He said he’d like to ride with us for a while.”

John frowned. “I suppose it could get us tortured or killed if I ask ‘why’?”

“Probably,” Kyle agreed, but he rattled off a string of rapid Basawar back at Saimura anyway. After Saimura responded, Kyle did turn his head to look at John. “He said his guard needs to be relieved. And he added that we might like to have company.”

“I mean, we can’t exactly tell him ‘no’,” John pointed out, eyeing Saimura’s deceptively kind face with extreme distrust. 

Kyle’s eyebrows drew together and he cocked his head. “I agree,” he said slowly. “It’s almost like he’s trying to apologize. He’s being polite, at the very least.”

Saimura extended a hand toward the carriage, reinforcing that idea of politeness, and John almost rolled his eyes. This man was responsible for nearly destroying John’s leg--which was impossibly back to normal now--and for the loss of Kyle’s finger. John would  _ never  _ trust him. Still, they followed him back to the carriage and Saimura even helped John get Kyle up and into the back when the net proved too annoying an obstacle. By the time they were seated again on the bed of the box, Kyle was breathing heavily and his cheeks were aflame. 

Worry sparked in John’s mind and he glared at Saimura where he now sat beside the still-lit lantern. When John turned back to Kyle, he put a hand on his knee through the net. “Kyle, they need to clean your wound,” John told him. “Ask Saimura,  _ please.  _ If he’s being so polite, maybe he’ll help you.”

Across from them, Saimura eyed the hand John had placed on Kyle, but didn’t threaten them with violence as the guard had. He simply shifted his legs so that he could prop his forearms atop them and sat regarding the two of them with casual interest. John realized he’d been distracted by the commander and that Kyle hadn’t answered him. 

“Kyle,” John prompted.

Kyle started at John’s voice and raised his eyes from where they had been studying his hand. He seemed to take a moment to focus on John, but finally he nodded. “Yes,” he agreed, and then turned to Saimura and spoke again in Basawar.

Saimura hardly moved or paused after Kyle finished, and his reply was short. “He said ‘when we arrive’”, Kyle translated, sinking back against the wall of the carriage.

John’s head snapped up to look at Saimura and anger flooded his system. “You said it will take days, Kyle. This is ridiculous. People  _ die  _ from infected wounds. You need help  _ now _ .”

He would have stood up and jerked Saimura’s collar, but the carriage driver chose that moment to start moving. Remaining seated was difficult when his entire being wanted to pummel the man across from them, but John did so in an attempt to keep them from being hurt worse. Saimura didn’t have a rifle, but he had a pistol and several knives strapped to his belt and probably hidden elsewhere. He focused on breathing and not on the pulsing energy that had started up around his eyes and was trickling down his skin to the rest of him. The last thing they needed was for him to explode again. 

Saimura said something, perhaps noticing John’s discomfort, and John could do nothing but look to Kyle for yet another translation. The language barrier was really getting to him and John hadn’t had the mental energy to focus on picking out familiar or repeated words. 

“He said that they don’t have the proper supplies to treat it,” Kyle said, his voice flat. “There will be more when we get to Nurjima.” He shifted so that he was facing John more fully, his face hidden from Saimura’s gaze. “Getting to Nurjima is the most important thing. I’ll be fine until then.”

John didn't feel placated, but the anger in his gut calmed somewhat. As the road wound on behind them and the jostling of the carriage numbed his body, John wondered about the Fai'daum and their mission in the civil war Kyle had mentioned days ago. Just who were these insurgents and why were they after this mysterious Payshmura Church? Were land and property rights worth so much? John had seen such rage in Parh’itam’s eyes. What sparked that fire? What sort of motivation made a seemingly kind man like Saimura into a torturing killer? 

After a while, Kyle’s head fell softly onto John’s shoulder. Peering down, John saw Kyle’s eyes closed and his chest heaving with the labored breathing his fever had induced. Saimura himself had his eyes closed and for all intents and purposes, seemed to be sleeping in their presence. John thought about knocking him out, but he figured if they did physical harm to the Fai’daum commander that things would not end well for either of them in the long run. 

So John sat and waited. He couldn’t bring himself to let his guard down. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually slept and yet he felt fine, more or less. His eyes didn’t carry that telltale draw to slumber. His body was relaxed. The pain in his leg and ribs was gone. It was fascinating what this Rifter power had gifted him. It was almost a sense of invincibility.

“Kyle,” John said softly. “Are you awake?” Hadn’t he already asked that once before during this trip? 

“Yes, awake,” Kyle muttered, but didn’t lift his head from John’s shoulder. His right hand slid silently against the wooden floor of the carriage. He curled the tips of his fingers through the net and threaded them between John’s.

John eyed Saimura until he felt sure the steady rise and fall of his chest was genuine. Then he pressed his lips against Kyle’s temple, just the merest brush of his mouth. It wasn’t enough and yet John knew he couldn’t be allowed more right now. Kyle’s clammy fingers tightened. 

A loud  _ whump _ rocked through the entire carriage frame and all of them startled upright--including Saimura who’s hands went straight to his knives. After a moment of the vehicle rolling along normally, John figured they’d hit a dip in the road or some sort of bump. Either way, he and Kyle no longer had the illusion of privacy and he groaned. Saimura settled back against the side of the box and crossed his arms, eyeing their linked hands. 

When several moments had passed, Saimura’s lips parted for a string of words that John  _ thought  _ might be a question based on the inflection. He looked to Kyle for the translation. 

Kyle took a shaky breath, then turned to John. “He wants to know how we knew where to look for Laurie. He asked how we were able to follow her.”

John tensed. “You seemed to think that’s where he would take her, right? Where else would someone from Basawar take someone from Nayeshi?” he asked, nerves jangling at Saimura’s choice of subject upon waking. “Why does he want to know?”

Kyle responded to Saimura in Basawar, his voice rough and rasping, and listened intently to the other man’s reply. “He said he’s never heard of anyone coming from Nayeshi who wasn’t a Rifter. He wonders how there could be two crossings in such a short span of time.” Kyle’s eyes were full of concern, and bright with fever.

John shrugged. “I obviously can’t speak to that,” he said. “This is your world. I’m just here to save Laurie. We should reiterate that to him--that we’re here to rescue her, whatever she is. Rifter or not.”

Kyle’s lips pursed in a smile, and he raised his eyebrows at John. “I’ll tell him what you said,” he assured, then looked back to Saimura to translate. 

Saimura listened intently, arms crossed over his chest and his head cocked slightly as Kyle’s lips formed the oddly beautiful sounding Basawar words that John wished he could understand. When Kyle was finished. The commander gave a nod. No challenge, no huff of disbelief. Simply a nod and John softened a bit towards the man. Perhaps on some level, this Fai’daum soldier could understand the impulse to save a friend. 

After several moments of silence, Saimura dimmed the lantern to complete darkness. John supposed that was their signal that it was time for sleep. It surprised him that Saimura trusted them not to attempt escape in the darkness and while the commander’s guard was down. In truth, John and Kyle needed to be closer to Nurjima before they could escape and perhaps Saimura knew that an escape attempt with Kyle in the condition he was would be untenable. Either way, John was grateful for the reprieve from the harsh light, though he could still see fine without it. 

It was strange how Basawar had heightened his Rifter nature. He could see much better,  _ hear  _ much better than he could even on Earth and those senses had already been greater than most people’s. Here, he could feel everything around him, even the cool night air beyond the box they were in, and the rocky terrain crawling past beneath them. 

John felt Kyle’s labored breathing even out a bit beside him and he smiled, hoping that the rest would help the fever go down. He didn’t know how far they had to go before they made it to this new city, but he hoped that Kyle would be better by then. He felt sure, before all of this was through, that there would be fighting at the very least and Kyle was his only defense. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, John conceded. He had pushed back those men in the cell with his Rifter nature alone. Perhaps he had more power than he was giving himself credit for.

Whatever the case, John hoped they made it through this alive and with Laurie’s safety to show for it. With that thought, he surprised himself by falling into a calm half-sleep where his mind traveled beyond the carriage and throughout the surrounding lands.

 

***

 

After what felt like endless days of travel, John had grown very,  _ very  _ tired of the carriage. His entire backside was numb and staring mutely at Saimura while Kyle slept most of the time was growing old. The man sat now, still across from him, polishing and caring for his many knives and John shuddered to look at them and remember how Kyle had lost his finger to a similar one days ago. His eyes drifted to the crown of Kyle’s black hair and his brows furrowed. Kyle’s entire body jerked with chills and the breathing that had once seemed merely labored was now truly disrupted. Even Saimura lifted his eyes to assess him once in a while. John’s anger at the Fai’daum for what they’d done to his lover had grown steadily higher as the days had passed. 

“Kyle,” John tested, slipping an around around Kyle’s netted back, “wake up, sweetheart.”

Kyle felt like dead weight in John’s arms. His head lolled on his neck, falling back as John supported his shoulders. His chest, still shirtless as the Fai’daum had been unwilling to risk freeing Kyle from the net for even a moment, was slick with sweat. John could see the erratic kick of his pulse at the vein in his neck and his eyelids fluttered lightly, but it was the only response he made.

Everything slowed down in John’s brain and all life seemed to drain into a single point of focus. “Kyle,” he said again. No response. John shifted around, put both hands on Kyle’s shoulders, and gently shook him.

Kyle’s face remained completely impassive. He didn’t so much as wince at John shaking him. 

Panic wrenched open John’s chest and he ran a hand through his dirty hair. Saimura had noticed the commotion by now and put a hand on John’s shoulder. John shook him violently off and glowered at him. 

“Look what you’ve done to him,” John snapped. 

Saimura’s eyes narrowed and his lips pursed, but he could say nothing that John would understand, so he remained silent. 

John turned his eyes back to Kyle, back to his entire world--the only world that mattered to him now. “Kyle, please,” he whispered. But there was no response. 

The pulsating power returned, slipping into his veins like a viper along a tree branch. John closed his eyes, willing it to stop, but he was so angry and scared and it fed the fiery power like gasoline. He released Kyle, afraid the strength surging through his body might crush his bones. He curled in on himself, shutting out everything and everyone except for Kyle. Perhaps he had enough control to handle that much. 

Again, Saimura tried to touch him and it was the last straw. 

John reacted.

All sound abruptly silenced, then unleashed in a deafening roar in his ears as his body unwrapped itself and a surge of energy blasted from him, taking with it the damning pulse that stripped his nerves bare and tangled his mind. John cried out and fell, realizing he had been suspended somehow above the floor.

He hit the ground--not the wooden floorboards of the carriage box. He blinked, trying to take in the surrounding area, but nothing made sense. Impossibly, he was outside and men shouted all around him. John sat up and frantically took stock of his situation. Kyle lay on the ground in front of him on his side, black hair loose and curling over his face and neck. John exhaled in relief that he was still breathing and unhurt. Beyond that, everything was chaos. 

Splintered and broken wood lay all about them in a circle of destruction that spanned forty feet in diameter. The carriage driver and Saimura had been knocked back beyond the circumference and were slowly rising to their feet. The animals that had pulled it were lowing pitifully where they lay trapped beneath the driver’s seat. 

_ Think, John… _

This was their chance and he knew it. Other Fai’daum soldiers were already running their way. Without thinking more about what he’d managed to do, he scooped Kyle up into his arms and started running. He had no idea which direction to go, but  _ away _ was the most important thing now. The direction he’d arbitrarily chosen took him past Saimura. The commander had blood on his temple and jaw, but seemed unhurt other than that. And when John passed him with a sideways glance, Saimura nodded. 

John ran until he could no longer see the Fai’daum--until the trees and hills gave way to flat plains. Until his human heart should have given out. 


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, we're back! So sorry for the extra-long hiatus, but we're really excited to be posting again. We are completely finished writing, so we promise that we WILL be completing this fic soon (there are just a few chapter to go, in fact). Thank you all for sticking with us, reading, and commenting/leaving kudos. We really appreciate all the love. <3

John had no idea where he was. He sat on a boulder at the base of a hillock crowned with black trees. Their pale leaves shook in the weak breeze around him. It still felt like he couldn’t get enough breath after his escape. So he sat there on the rock, heaving in breath after breath, holding Kyle in his arms and wishing with all his heart that he would wake. 

Bringing up a hand, John smoothed the black hair from Kyle’s clammy face and frowned when he felt the fever still burning bright and strong. He’d taken the net off as soon as he’d found this place and John hoped the ability to move freely would help Kyle feel a little better when he came to. As if just thinking the mere thought were enough to rouse him, Kyle stirred. 

At first it was just a few fitful movements of his head, tossing it back and forth against John’s shoulder, but suddenly Kyle sucked in a gasping breath and started forward out of John’s arms. He scrabbled at the rock with his fingers for a moment, not seeming to take in any of their surroundings, but then the spell of whatever had woken him broke and he dropped his head into his hands, breathing heavily.

John’s heart leapt into his throat, a wave of relief flooding him, and he exhaled heavily. Reaching out, he placed a tentative hand on Kyle’s shoulder and said, “You alright?”

Kyle raised his face from where it was buried in his hands, and looked at John. His eyes were still glassy and bright and his cheeks were streaked with a bright flush of red, but at least he was awake. “I think so,” he said, voice shaking and uncertain. “Where are we?”

John wanted to laugh for joy at hearing Kyle’s voice. “I don’t know,” he said. “I think I ran southeast, but I don’t even know how directions work here.” John gently rubbed Kyle’s bare back. His tall body felt furnace hot, but gooseflesh still covered his skin. “Here,” John reached for the bundle of the net where he’d laid it nearby. Inside was the bunched up shirt Kyle had been holding to his chest for warmth. “Put this on.”

“We probably need to keep heading south and west. That should take us toward Nurjima,” Kyle said, glancing around their surroundings as he shrugged into the shirt. “I think we need to find a place where we can lie low. I need to get this clean.” He touched the back of his left hand lightly, wincing at the tight, swollen flesh around the wound.

Anger flared in John’s gut at the sight of Kyle’s severed flesh and how terrible it looked now. “Will there be a place for us to get medical supplies before we lie low?”

Kyle paused before speaking, either to consider the question or to get his pain under control John wasn’t sure. “There will be doctors in the city, but they cater mostly to the wealthy. It would be too risky to go near that part of town without a better idea of what we were walking into. We should try to find a cheap apothecary. Someone who won’t ask a lot of questions.” By the end of his explanation, Kyle was breathing more heavily, as if merely speaking had winded him.

“How much time do you need to rest? There’s a small depression beneath this boulder we could probably hide in if you need to sleep again,” John offered, a sudden nervousness prickling through his bones. Being out in the open like this had not been John’s best idea. 

“No,” Kyle said firmly, pushing himself to his feet. He swayed for a moment, but stilled. “I’m fine. We should go now. It’s been too long already. We’ve been in Basawar over a week and we need to get to Laurie as soon as we can.”

“Alright,” John said, not wanting to push even though Kyle looked dead on his feet. He stood up, too, and extended a hand. “After you. If you get tired, I can carry you again.”

Kyle smiled, and it was good to see it even though the hand that grasped John’s was still too hot with burning fever. “I might take you up on that,” Kyle warned, the smile in his voice as well.

They moved more slowly over the terrain than when they first arrived and Kyle’s breathing bothered John with its rattling wheeze, though Kyle tried to hide it. There was no more talk for a while and they stayed close to the treeline where they could easily hide if someone came across them in the open field. It went on this way until nightfall and John had to force Kyle to stop. The next morning, after sleeping tucked up at the base of a tree, John spotted the first inklings of a city. 

“Is that it?” John asked from his position behind a tree that barely covered his large frame. 

“Yes,” Kyle said simply, and John thought his voice had a note of sadness in it.

Kyle’s left hand was tucked against his middle and John knew it must still hurt terribly. He didn’t want to delay them seeking the apothecary, so he jerked his head towards the city and said, “Let’s go.”

A weak nod was his only response. 

The terrain had grown gradually dotted with hills and small valleys as they’d trekked the day before and now, heading into Nurjima, the way was outright steep. They were heading into what John guessed to be the west side of the city. It was a giant bramble of humanity enclosed in what appeared to be slums of some sort. Tenement structures rose above the dark streets with clotheslines slung between them. People milled about everywhere on their own business. Boys on bicycles soared through the crowded bodies, paying little attention to the passersby. Gas lamps puttered out and died with the increasing daylight. 

John was fascinated by the architecture that reminded him of San Francisco and he tried not to let his mouth hang open as he took in every detail around them. He felt like it was his first taste of the “real” Basawar. A place with vibrant life thrumming through its veins. 

Up ahead, Kyle suddenly leaned against a brick building, heaving in a breath. John sped up and reached to put a hand to his shoulder, but remembered just in time that men did not touch here. He clenched his hand into a fist and merely whispered, “Where can we find an apothecary? Do you need me to bring them to you?”

Kyle’s eyes were closed, his head tilted back against the brick. He drew in a stuttered, shaking breath through his nose and spoke without opening his eyes. “There should be one if we keep walking along the harbor road. There are shops that line the street facing the river. An apothecary should have a sign.” He did turn to look at John then, his brow wrinkled in concentration. “The sign would have a branch on it. With small, round leaves. It’s their trade symbol.”

“Branch, round leaves. Got it,” John said as Kyle peeled off the wall and started walking again. 

Kyle led them through winding, twisting alleys and up hilly streets until they descended into a pocket of what appeared to be shops to John’s eye. Creaking signs hung above doorways with Basawar words written on them, but most had emblems or symbols to accompany the words, John scanned for the symbol Kyle had mentioned. Finally, he spotted it--the branch with round leaves. Kyle was already heading for it. As they moved closer, John took a second to take stock of their surroundings and was pleased to see the street was empty except for a stray white animal John didn’t recognize that slinked from one side of the alley to the other before disappearing down a crack between buildings. 

Bells peeled when Kyle opened the apothecary’s door and it jerked John out of his scrutinization of the area. He followed him inside. A graying man sat in the back of the shop reading an old book. The apothecary? He must have registered their presence, for he put a finger in the book to mark his place and looked up. 

The man started to say something in Basawar but the words died on his lips. He was staring at Kyle as though he were looking at a ghost. He rose slowly from his stool and took a tentative step toward them at the front of the shop. “Ravishan?” He breathed the question, the quiet tone of his voice heavy with wonder.

John glanced at Kyle, who looked completely stricken and hadn’t taken his eyes off of the apothecary. “What are you doing here?” Kyle asked in English, reaching a hand out to the wall for balance and drawing it back when he couldn’t find a surface that wasn’t lined with shelves or herb drying racks.

The apothecary raised a bemused eyebrow. “I’m here every day,” he said, and John was surprised to hear that he also spoke a heavily accented English. “I should wonder what you’re doing here, considering you’ve been dead for over a decade.”

John glanced between them, the recognition clear on their faces. “I take it you know each other?”

“Can I get a chair?” Kyle asked, his voice strained. He stumbled back a step toward John and put a tentative hand against John’s shoulder, balancing himself.

The apothecary looked considerably less shaken than John would have expected based on the conversation they’d been having. He merely stepped around a low set of shelves toward them and reached for Kyle’s arm. With his free hand, he pulled the rumpled sleeve of the Fai’daum shirt back from Kyle’s left wrist and looked at his hand. “Follow me,” he said mildly, before he turned to look at John. “And yes, we do know each other. Or we did, at any rate.”

John followed them through a flap behind the desk with the chair where the old man had been sitting and took in the sights of a work room of some sort. Herbs were everywhere -- on tables, hanging from the ceiling, even on the floor in places. The man led Kyle over to a chair beside one of the work tables. 

“Who are you?” John asked, feeling less mistrustful knowing that Kyle obviously knew the man from his past. 

The man looked at John from over the narrow lenses of his glasses, which were perched low on the bridge of his nose. “My name is Hann’yu,” he said, after a moment of silence. “I’m an apothecary.” He gestured vaguely at the hanging bunches of herbs and bowls of powders around them.

“He was a priest,” Kyle said quietly. He had closed his eyes and leaned back against the chair the moment Hann’yu had pushed him into it, and he didn’t open them when he spoke.

It was hard for John to remember sometimes that Kyle was a holy man as well--in Basawar at least--and knowing he was connected to other priests from his order solidified that fact in John’s mind. There was still so much about Kyle he didn’t know or understand. John found a table to lean against and watched as Hann’yu lifted Kyle’s hand and examined it. 

“How did this happen?” Hann’yu asked, leaning closer to the wound to inspect it.

“A Fai’daum blade,” Kyle said. “Almost a week ago.

Hann’yu’s gray eyebrows lifted again. He released Kyle’s hand and crossed the room to a wooden stand with a ceramic jug sitting atop it. He poured water from the tall jug into a smaller bowl and carried it back over to where Kyle sat. For a few minutes, as Hann’yu cleaned Kyle’s wound with a wet cloth, they kept a tense silence. Finally, Hann’yu spoke, the mild tone of his voice at odds with the tension in his posture. “Have you been in Basawar since the Great Gate was destroyed?”

Kyle’s eyes were open now, and his was looking at Hann’yu intently. “No,” he admitted. “I was trapped in Nayeshi. At least I thought I was. We crossed back a little over a week ago, just before this happened.” He nodded toward his left hand.

John appreciated that they were speaking in English and tried to think of the implications of Hann’yu’s words. Had there been some major consequence for the Basawar people when the gate was destroyed? John thought of the difficulty he’d had breathing when he first came to this world. Had that been because of a gate or just the natural state of Basawar’s atmosphere? 

He looked back to Kyle’s hand and the bowl where Hann’yu was wiping away dirt and blood with the quickly dirtying water. “Can you help him?” John asked. 

“It simply needs to be cleaned more than anything else. It looks like you haven’t done much with it since it happened.” He looked at Kyle, who nodded his confirmation. “You have a high fever, probably from infection in the wound. Both treatable with time and the right medicine.”

“Do you have what you need here?” John asked.

Hann’yu smiled indulgently. “I have all the medicines you could want. Are you injured as well?”

_ Not anymore,  _ John thought. “No. Just a shirt, please, if you have one,” John said. He had been walking around shirtless since the Fai’daum had stripped him of it during his torture and garnering more than a few stares from passersby as they’d walked through the slums earlier. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” Hann’yu said. “I don’t I have anything in your size lying around.”

John laughed, running a hand through his dirty hair. “I appreciate the effort.” He had noticed he was larger than everyone they’d come across, including Saimura and Parh’itam. John had practically towered over the translator at his full height. “I take it you’re not a priest anymore?” John asked Hann’yu, changing the subject. 

Hann’yu had gone back to concentrating on Kyle’s hand, and he didn’t look up from his task. “No,” he agreed, head bowed. “Not for some time.”

Kyle glanced at John from over Hann’yu’s shoulder and gave a tiny shrug. “Do you know of a place nearby where we could rent a room?” he asked.

“A room?” Hann’yu repeated, finally looking up. His head swung from Kyle to John and back. “We live above the shop and would be happy to have you both as our guests. In fact, I insist. You shouldn’t be up and about any longer in your state.” He directed his last words to Kyle, and his tone carried a stern familiarity that suggested a parent speaking to a child.

“Thank you,” John said. He still couldn’t remember the last time he slept in all of the madness with the Fai’daum and it would be good to get the rest. The fact that he hadn’t needed the sleep, really, was probably just one more thing to chock up to his Rifter nature. He looked to Kyle, who had a hazy expression in his eyes and a fiery red tinge to his cheeks. “Do you need me to carry you up the stairs?” he asked, more teasing than anything. 

Kyle’s blush deepened further. His eyes flicked quickly to Hann’yu, but the apothecary was occupied mixing a pile of powders together into a small bowl and didn’t seem to notice. 

“Maybe,” Kyle agreed, jaw set. “Or just stand behind me in case I topple backwards.”

“Can do.” John smiled. 

For the first time in what felt like a long time, things were looking up. 

 

***

 

Kahlil dragged himself out of strange dreams of climbing endless staircases only to find himself back in the Fai’daum prison cell. When he woke, he was lying on an unfamiliar cot in a room lit by thin gray sunlight. He should probably be used to waking up in unfamiliar rooms by now, but it was still disorienting. It wasn’t until he saw John in a cot next to his, his back rising and falling with the gentle breath of sleep, that his brain managed to put together the pieces of their escape from the Fai’daum.

Kahlil remembered the past nights in hazy moments of feverish awareness, but it was coming back to him more now as he woke. He remembered John, shirtless, carrying him from the Fai’daum caravan, then waking up again in the woods. And he remembered walking into this apothecary shop and the sight of the old priest from the infirmary at Rathal’pesha shocking him nearly senseless. 

“John,” he said, reaching for John’s shoulder and giving it a light shake. He wasn’t sure how long they had slept. He hated to wake John when sleep had been so rare and precious over the past week, but the thought of facing Hann’yu alone was too much for him to contemplate.

A sleepy sigh accompanied a long stretch that John moved through on the cot. It forced his long legs off the makeshift bed on the ends and sent his arms well above the top edge. It made Kahlil smile. “Kyle?” John murmured, his voice deep with residual sleep. 

“It’s me,” Kahlil said, softly. He wasn’t sure where they had been put in relation to the rest of Hann’yu’s living quarters, and he didn’t want to wake the man until he and John were ready to face him. 

With a yawn, John sat up and rubbed at his eyes. “I think that may be the first time I’ve slept since right after we got here.”

“This is more comfortable that that wagon,” Kahlil agreed. “Not exactly modern suspension on that thing. I’m glad you slept well though. You needed it.”

“I think I did.” John huffed out a light laugh and swung his legs over the cot. Once he was standing fully, he gave another long stretch and Kahlil could hear the cracks and pops of John’s spine and neck. “Though, this bed still does leave much to be desired. Did you sleep okay? How are you feeling?”

Kahlil considered John’s questions, visions of the nightmares that had plagued him while the fever peaked and broke running through his mind. He looked down at the clean, white bandages swathing his left hand and flexed it into a fist. It hurt, but the swelling had gone down enough that he could easily bend the remaining fingers. “I feel better,” he admitted, looking back up at John. He swung his legs over the side of his cot and pushed himself up to stand next to John so that they were just a few inches apart. “Good, actually. And I agree with you about the cots. They were too far apart from each other. Much to be desired, indeed.” 

John’s smile was soft and sweet in the early morning light. “We’ll see what we can do for tonight.” He glanced to the door. “For now, we’d better greet our host. Maybe he’s found a shirt I can squeeze into.”

Kahlil swallowed hard, following John’s eyes to the doorway. “He knew me… from before,” he said, forcing each clipped word out. “He was kind to me, but still. He was a high-ranking priest. We need to find out why he is here, and why he would help us.”

“Perhaps he’ll tell us more about himself if we give him information about the Fai’daum? I have no love for them after what they did to you and me. You said the priests hated them, right?” John suggested. He was nothing if not practical. 

“It’s worth trying,” Kahlil said, fingers running absently over the scar on his cheek. When he realized that he was doing it, he drew his hand away. “Now, do you remember anything about the layout of this place? I wasn’t in the best condition yesterday to remember how we got upstairs.”

John shrugged. “Pretty simple place. Just the few rooms downstairs with a water closet and then a few upstairs. I hear shuffling around and clinking from downstairs, so I assume someone’s up. We might as well meet this day head on. Anything’s better than where we were before this place. I was glad to see the Fai’daum disappear into the distance when I escaped with you.”

Hann’yu had said that he lived here with his family, and Kahlil and been too tired and ill to question him further, but now he wondered what might have happened to the priest in the years since he had run the infirmary at the monastery. He wondered too what assumptions Hann’yu might have made about him and John. He must as least suspect that John could be the Rifter. Who else would Kahlil have brought with him from Nayeshi? And Hann’yu had been speaking English with them almost from the moment they arrived.

Kahlil heard a splash of water from downstairs, and a deep voice speaking. He couldn’t make out the words. He turned to John and gave a small smile. “I guess we’d better go down.”

John nodded. “I’ll go down the stairs first in case you get wobbly and need to fall into me. You still look a little glassy-eyed.”

“Thanks,” Kahlil said, smile widening. They turned down a hallway and found a steep, narrow staircase leading down. The smell of strong daru’sira wafted from somewhere below them and immediately turned Kahlil’s thoughts toward breakfast. At the bottom of the staircase another turn and another short hallway ended at a swinging door with bright light seeping around the edges. John pushed the door open, his shoulder blocking any view Kahlil would have had of the room. After a moment, John stepped aside to reveal a kitchen where a short, dark-haired woman was pulling bread out of an oven and chatting softy with a young man who stood in front of a small porcelain sink with a scrub brush in his hand. Kahlil didn’t see Hann’yu anywhere, and he wondered suddenly who they had just intruded upon.

“Good morning,” he said, speaking Basawar. “I’m sorry if we’ve interrupted you. We were looking for Hann’yu.”

The woman looked up from the oven, her face transforming from the easy smile she’d worn to a sudden crease of surprise and worry between her eyes.

“You must be Hann’yu’s guests,” she said softly, her gaze dropping to the floor. “I am his wife, Istanayye, and this is our son Du’rai.” She swept her hand out toward the young man at the sink, who inclined his head in greeting.

Kahlil started at the man, Du’rai. He looked hardly younger than Kahlil himself, which meant that Hann’yu must have been keeping his family a secret while living in Rathal’pesha. Kahlil raised an eyebrow, impressed. “It’s an honor to meet you,” he said, nodding to both of them. “This is my friend John. He doesn’t speak Basawar.”

John glanced between all of them, looking a bit uncomfortable. He must have heard his name amidst the syllables and guessed the meaning for it being there, for he bowed his head a bit and said in English, “It’s nice to meet you.”

Istanayye’s face lit into a happy smile at the sound of John’s foreign words. “How wonderful it must be for Hann’yu to have you as a guest,” she said. “I suppose you’ll want to see him?”

Kahlil glanced over to John, who was looking at him expectantly. “Yes,” Kahlil agreed. “We should talk with him.”

“He’s in his office. I can take you there. And I have this for your friend.” Istanayye crossed to a shelf near the door where they had come in, and picked up a carefully folded bundle of cloth. “It might not be an exact fit,” she said apologetically, holding the bundle out to John. Kahlil translated for him.

John reached out for it and drew the fabric into his chest, letting it unfold. It was a tunic that seemed to fit John—at least as it was held out from his body. “Please thank her for me,” he said to Kahlil and then sent Istanayye an expression of gratitude and a nod of his head. After that, he put the tunic on and seemed pleased with the fit. Kahlil flushed when he realized it was the first time he’d seen John in Basawar clothing. And how nicely it fit John’s figure.

Kahlil relayed John’s message, and Istanayye’s smile broadened even further. “Follow me,” she said, leading them through a door on the other side of the kitchen. They passed through a small sitting room with two plush chairs and rugs and pillows strewn about the floor and into a much smaller, darker room. The space was lit by a low-burning lamp that rested on top of a large wooden desk. Hann’yu sat in a small chair behind the desk, hunched close to the page of a book he was reading in the weak light.

“You must brighten this room up, my love,” Istanayye chided. “You’ll ruin your eyes reading in the dark. And anyway, your guests are awake.” 

Hann’yu looked up from his book and blinked into the darkness outside of the ring illuminated by his lamp. “If I turned up the lamp, I would run out of oil before I finished my book,” Hann’yu explained, taking off his glasses and setting them aside. “But for my guests, I will concede.” He reached for the base of the lamp and adjusted a small knob that elongated the wick, instantly brightening the room around them.

“I’ll bring you all some breakfast as soon as the bread cools a bit,” Istanayye promised, slipping out of the room.

Hann’yu bent his back into a stretch as he looked at Kahlil and John. “Did you sleep well?” he asked in English. Kahlil nodded.

“Well enough. Thank you for your hospitality,” John said earnestly. “It was kind of you to let us sleep here for the night.”

Hann’yu smiled at John’s thanks, but didn’t speak for a moment. He steepled his hands beneath his chin and looked at both of them intently. “How auspicious that of all the apothecaries in Nurjima, you would find mine,” he said finally. His eyes were resting on Kahlil now.

“It was lucky for us, that’s true,” Kahlil agreed. “We had no idea that you lived in the city, much less as an apothecary with a family.” He paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “I haven’t been receiving the most updated reports lately.”

Hann’yu raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I should think not,” he said. “I left Rathal’pesha and the church ten years ago.”

“We crossed the Great Gate just a few days ago,” Kahlil explained. “A great deal of time was lost between the worlds.”

Hann’yu nodded thoughtful, and then turned to John. “You are from the Palace of the Day, then?”

John’s face took on a blank look. “I don’t know what you mean. Sorry. I’m from...Nayeshi?” John looked to Kahlil for assistance. 

“That’s right,” Kahlil confirmed. “The Great Gate was broken. It was less than a year ago in Nayeshi, but it seems ten years have passed here. I was...trapped in Nayeshi. The Nayeshi’hala was destroyed.” Kahlil glanced significantly toward John, hoping that John would sense his uncertainty over whether to trust Hann’yu completely.

Hann’yu nodded and stroked his chin. “That fits with the last reports I heard while I was still at Rathal’pesha. They said that they had lost communication with the kahlil. That he may have been killed by a Fai’daum assassin or convinced to turn traitor. I found either difficult to imagine, I will confess.”

Kahlil wondered what Hann’yu would say if he knew the truth. Not dead or a betrayer, but becoming friends with the Rifter, and then falling in love. Hann’yu had known him as a youth. Maybe he would find the truth very easy to imagine. “I have been in Nayeshi watching over the Rifter as ever,” he said, which was not entirely a lie.

Hann’yu raised an eyebrow at Kahlil’s words and looked significantly at John. “And yet you are here now, in Basawar and in my home” he said. “And not with the Usho in the Black Tower.”

“No,” Kahlil agreed, “we are not with the Usho.” He looked back at John, who was watching Hann’yu carefully, his blue eyes narrowed.

“Have you heard of any other crossings lately?” Kahlil spoke in what he hoped was an off-hand tone, but it sounded like a leading question even to his ears. Hann’yu’s eyebrows raised again, but he didn’t speak. “Or any suggestions that the priests may be gathering here in Nurjima? Or of another kahlil even?”

Hann’yu raised a hand to silence him, and Kahlil held his breath waiting to hear what he would say. 

“You should trust me with the truth,” Hann’yu said when he finally spoke, his gaze moving from Kahlil to John and back. “You are guests in my home. You have met my wife and my son. I live as a merchant now, a simple apothecary. I’m not an Ushman, or even a gaun anymore. If you are avoiding the Payshmura, you have nothing to fear from me.”

Kahlil blinked, letting Hann’yu’s admission sink in. Then he let the smile that was tugging at the corners of his mouth show, and shook his head. “Thank you,” he said. “I do trust you. But it’s important that we stay out of Payshmura hands. We’re looking for someone. Someone that they took from Nayeshi. If they knew we were here, I think it would make finding and reaching her much more difficult.”

“There are rumors,” Hann’yu said, speaking slowly. “That the Kahlil has returned to Basawar from Nayeshi. That he has brought the Rifter, and that the Payshmura will use her to crush the Fai’daum.”

_ Her _ . Kahlil looked to John. His face was pinched and tight.

Hann’yu continued speaking. “The rumors also say that the Kahlil is afraid. That he is not blessed by Parfir. That the truest prophecies, spoken at Umbhra’ibaye before the oracles were killed in the fire, said that he was meant to die as a youth. I have heard that he balks at his duties. If the reports are true, he has been with the Rifter for a week in the Black Tower, but he has not completed the rituals.”

“If that’s true, then Laurie might still be alive,” Kahlil said, turning to John.

John exhaled heavily. “You know we have to go, then. As soon as possible.”

Kahlil nodded. Fikiri’s reticence to hurt Laurie may have bought them time, but it wouldn’t last forever. Kahlil imagined Dayyid ripping the bottle of tuman’itam away from Fikiri and forcing it down Laurie’s throat himself. It had been his hope for glory and his proof of Parfir’s blessings, Kahlil supposed, to be able to say that he had trained the kahlil who brought a Rifter to Basawar.

“The Fai’daum took all of our weapons,” Kahlil said. He turned to Hann’yu. “Do you know of anywhere we could get something? A knife, at least.”

Hann’yu was still sitting, looking strangely calm amidst the sudden tension and urgency that Kahlil felt. “I may have a few things from my younger days laying around,” he said. “How soon do you mean to leave?”

“Now,” Kahlil said immediately, looking to John for confirmation. “As soon as possible.”

“Yes,” John agreed. He nodded and uncrossed his arms from across his chest. “Let’s go.”

Hann’yu finally pushed himself to his feet. “Well,” he said, “in that case I had better find what you need quickly.”

“Thank you,” Kahlil added. “For the weapons. For healing me. For everything.”

Hann’yu inclined his head. “You’re welcome. May you have success in your mission.” He smiled then, his whole face lighting up. “As someone who has known you since you were a stubborn child, I can say this: I have no doubts at all that you will.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your patience while we readied this penultimate chapter. Life seriously got in the way for us on this, but we hope you will enjoy it to the max! Things are happenin'! We both hope you enjoy it and share your thoughts.

Kahlil frowned as he looked up and down the dockside street in front of Hann’yu’s apothecary. The area had not been considered one of the nicer in the city, with too many strangers coming in off of boats and too many of the types of businesses that had moved in to serve them. Kahlil was glad for the protection of the two knives that Hann’yu had found for him, and the cover of a cloak with a large hood. He pulled the hood further forward, obscuring his face and hopefully shadowing the prayerscars from view.

John followed him out from the apothecary shop, another knife from Hann’yu hanging from his belt. John’s head was uncovered, his blond hair bright in the heat of the morning sun. Hann’yu had explained how common it was to see men and women of Eastern descent in Nurjima now, especially in the poor neighborhoods by the docks.

Kahlil turned to him. They were finally here in Nurjima, just a short walk from their goal. It seemed strange that less than two weeks ago they had been sitting in a diner across from Laurie and Bill, discussing Fikiri’s appearance in their lives. So much had changed, even in just the short time that had passed. 

“We’ll have her back soon,” he assured, reaching for John’s hand. They stood close enough that it was a tiny gesture, but Kahlil still had to will his head not to turn and check for curious onlookers who might wonder what sort of intimate conversation two men were having with their hands clasped.

“I just hope she’s alright,” John said on an exhale. “If they’ve treated her like the other Rifters you told me about…” John stopped and closed his eyes for a few more breaths. “I just hope she’s okay.”

Kahlil nodded. “Hann’yu seems to think there’s hope, at least. If he’s right about Fikiri having misgivings about performing the rituals, then we might make it in time.” A sudden thought struck Kahlil. “She’ll heal of almost any injury. Like you did, after the Fai’daum…”

John’s eyes widened and he looked down at his right leg, which had completely healed after the torture. “I guess I didn’t think too much about it,” he said. “I didn’t  _ want  _ to think about it and what it meant for me.”

“It never came up in our hurry to get here,” Kahlil said, thinking back over their conversations about Basawar and the nature of the Rifter. “I suppose it’s one of those things that I took for granted as something everyone knows. But of course you wouldn’t. Almost nothing can harm you here. Not permanently. Which means that nothing can harm Laurie either, if we can get to her before Fikiri manages to complete the rituals.”

Pale blue eyes shifted to stare off into the hazy, gray morning sky. John’s body stood tense and rigid. Eventually, he relaxed. “It’s weird to think of myself in that way. Like...like I’m invincible or something. What normal person is?”

“You aren’t a normal person, John,” Kahlil said. “Especially not here.”

John’s gaze fell to the road and he sighed heavily. “I guess not.” He squeezed Kahlil’s hand once and let it go, sticking it in the pocket of his ratty trousers. “Let’s go.”

Kahlil keenly felt the loss of contact with John’s skin, the energy of their bond buzzing with dissatisfaction. He steeled himself and nodded. “The Black Tower is across town, in one of the richest neighborhoods. It’s not a far walk, but we need to be careful. It would be better if we didn’t attract too much notice.”

They walked casually together through a few deserted alleys and side streets, but Kahlil was noticing that the crowds were thin even on the main roads that he glimpsed from the shadowed alleys. “It’s strange to see so few people out and about here,” he said to John under his breath.

John’s gaze scanned their surroundings before he offered, “Perhaps a farmers’ market or something is happening today? What sorts of things attract a lot of people in Basawar?”

“Nothing good, usually,” Kahlil muttered, waving for John to follow him out of the alley and onto the main, broad thoroughfare. They caught a glimpse of two young men disappearing around a curve in the street. They had been running quickly toward the center of the city.

Kahlil furrowed his brow and turned to John with a questioning frown. “They were heading the same way we are.”

“Do you think there’s something going on near the Black Tower? Could they be preparing to do something to Laurie?” John’s voice was low and fragile.

A wave of anxiety swept through Kahlil. He hated to hear that same worry in John’s voice. “We’ll be there soon. If anything is going on, we’ll be able to stop it.”

They began moving more quickly, staying on the vacant main streets. Occasionally they would catch sight of a person. They saw a woman in long, flowing widow’s veils hustling her children into their home and glancing fearfully up and down the street before she closed her door. There were others looking out through windows or walking quickly down the street with their eyes on the ground.

After a few more blocks, Kahlil began to hear a strange low-pitched murmur that seemed to come from all around them. The sound rose in intensity as they continued across the city, and Kahlil was able to pick out more details: tahldi hooves on the paving stones, and the angry shouts of men who were ready to fight. 

“It sounds like there’s an army moving through the streets ahead,” he said, his mind racing through the possibilities of which force it could be. Did the Fai’daum have enough men and mounts to be attacking Nurjima directly? It hadn’t looked that way to Kahli while they had traveled with the rebels, but maybe they had been hiding their reserves. “They’re going to be blocking the way to the Black Tower, judging by the sound.”

“Can we go around them?” John asked. 

“Maybe,” Kahlil said. “Let’s see if that’s really what’s going on.”

They moved more cautiously then, still making good time but careful not to turn a corner and be face-to-face with a Fai’daum militia. And then finally, after they rounded a strip of tall, ornate gaun’im mansions at the top of a steep hill, the streaming force of men and tahldi came into view on the broad street below them.

At the head of the column that filled even the broad avenue down which they marched, orderly rows of soldiers kept a tight formation. There were cavalry mounted on tahldi as well as hundreds - possibly thousands - of men on foot. They all wore the characteristic red and black uniform that Kahlil himself had donned after he had received his prayerscars. “These are the kahlirash’im,” he said to John, his voice tight.

John bent his head a bit to ask, “Who are they? What do you think they’re doing here?” He eyed the soldiers with mingled curiosity and tension.

“They are a holy order dedicated to Parfir in his aspect as the Rifter. They are the most devout and fanatical of any Payshmura order.” Kahlil did not take his eyes off of the column. The soldiers at the head were marching quickly in their tight, disciplined rows. Behind them, however, men of Nurjima were gathering and marching in their own disorderly knot that was steadily growing even larger than the contingent of kahlirash’im. 

Kahlil had an open view of the wide avenue from their position on the hill, and as he watched the kahlirash’im move forward he could see that with every street and alley they crossed more men streamed in toward the column. They did not keep to the same military precision that the soldiers marched in. Their group was a roiling mass of men, all on foot, that Kahlil could hear shouting even from where he stood at the top of the hill. It looked like a mob, and it seemed to Kahlil that they were all heading in the same direction that he and John were going: toward the Black Tower.

“We should join them,” Kahlil said quickly, grabbing the sleeve of John’s shirt. “The kahlirash’im must be marching to the Black Tower to protect the Rifter. They have long opposed the Usho on his interpretation of the holy texts. If there will be a showdown, this could be the perfect opportunity to slip inside.”

“Alright. Lead the way,” John said, jerking his head towards the mass of bodies. Though he was much taller than nearly everyone in the crowd, there were many lighter-colored heads. Kahlil supposed it made sense for those of Eastern descent to want to take up arms and fight against their oppressors. It would also help John’s blond hair to blend in more easily. 

Kahlil readjusted his hood again as they made their way down the steep, winding street to join the marchers. Of all the people in Basawar, the men of the kahlirash’im were the most likely to recognize his prayerscars for what they were. Each of them bore their own crescent moon scar across their foreheads.

The crowd grew thicker as they got closer. Kahlil felt himself jostled from behind and lifted a hand, ready to defend John with a Silence Knife if he needed to. The man merely pushed past them though, shouting and running after the column. “Thank goodness you’re nearly impossible to lose in a crowd,” Kahlil said, eyes grazing the top of John’s head.

“I’m more concerned it will cause someone to notice us,” John admitted. “What are we going to do if someone sees you?”

“Hopefully we won’t have to worry about it for much longer. We’re getting close now.” The tall spire of the Black Tower loomed high overhead, it’s point nearly disappearing into the clouds above them. The walls of the complex itself were not yet visible, but Kahlil knew that they would reach them in just a few more minutes of marching at this pace. They had caught up enough with the mob that there were men on all sides of them now and the noises of shouting and the heavy stomping of boots was drowning out anything else Kahlil could hear.

“How will we get inside once we get there? I doubt the Payshmura will just let us walk right in,” John said, eyeing the tower with something akin to awe.

Kahlil acknowledged the point with a shake of his head. “No, you’re right. Maybe we can find a side gate. I can cross through Gray Space and let you in from the inside. We’ll have to start scouting the walls once we get closer.”

It turned out to be unnecessary, however. When they rounded another bend in the street that brought the walls of the Payshmura stronghold into view, it was clear that there would be no need to sneak into the building. The heavy iron gates, five times Kahlil’s height and formed from wrought iron bars thicker than his wrist, had been blown nearly from their hinges and hung precariously twisted from the bits of metal that were still connected. Their looming forms threatened to collapse completely onto the mob that circled below them. 

Men, both mounted kahlirash soldiers and the angry citizens of Nurjima, were streaming through the opening that the broken gates provided. Kahlil didn’t see anyone in the silk cassocks or gold-embroidered coats that he remembered the priests of Nurjima to wear. It seemed that no one was defending the Black Tower. Kahlil gestured to John to follow him as they neared the milling crowd.

John skirted closer to Kahlil, moving silently over the hard streets. Despite his size, he was agile and mindful of his movements. When he caught up to Kahlil, he gave a hard nod. “I see they’ve made an entrance easier for us.” 

Kahlil smiled. “We might as well make use of their generous gift.” Together, he and John pushed through the jostling crowd. Kahlil caught sight of a few men with rifles clutched in their hands, but most of them seemed to be ordinary citizens who had jumped at the opportunity to pay back the Payshmura for years of forced tithes and controlling oversight. There were men from all walks of life, some dressed in dockworkers oilcloth, some in ragged beggar’s cloaks, and some in the respectable trousers and jackets of the merchants that strolled through the city parks with their wives and daughters after supper. They all had a bone to pick with the Payshmura, it seemed.

It was fortunate that there were so many men from the city there. It made it that much easier for John and Kahlil to blend in amidst the crowd and for Kahlil to avoid the eyes of any kahlirash who may have recognized him. The mob led them straight through the courtyard between the gated entrance and the Black Tower itself, and soon they were inside. Kahlil didn’t spare any glances toward the sumptuous furnishings and artwork that crowded into every space. The mob was making short work of all of it, ripping fixtures from the walls and smashing anything that could be broken. The floor was already littered with shards of brightly painted porcelain. 

“She’ll likely be at the top of the tower,” Kahlil said to John, looking across the room at the sweeping staircase that led to the higher chambers. “It’s strange that we haven’t seen anyone defending the Tower. I would have expected ushiri’im, or at least priests trained in combat. We should be wary.”

John’s lips thinned and the already serious expression on his face grew grim and angry. “Should we come across anyone, I’ll make myself useful,” he said. Kahlil could feel John’s tenuous control over his powerful Rifter nature and knew just how precarious it was. John had barely had any time to learn to rein his powers in through discipline and practice. If he were to lose control…

Kahlil shook his head. John would do whatever it took to get Laurie to safety. Kahlil would have to trust that he would keep control long enough for that, at least. He smiled, and let the back of his hand brush against John’s. He didn’t know anyone with more self-control or determination. 

“Let me take care of anyone we come across. If we get seperated, just keeping going up. They should be keeping Laurie at the very top of the tower,” Kahlil said, his lips close enough to John’s ear to feel the tickling strands of his hair.

“Alright,” John said. “Let’s keep moving.” 

They began to push through the crowd again, now careful to avoid fights that were breaking out between looters as they seized onto whatever precious artifacts they could carry. They reached the stairs and began to climb. The first staircase took them up to a terrace level, where they cut across to a much smaller and more disused corridor. A servants’ stair lead them upward, with only an occasional dead-end requiring them to stop and find another way to continue their ascent. Kahlil and John were both breathing heavily, but they kept their pace up. Kahlil was beginning to feel the effects of the fever and the bloodloss more acutely now, even with Hann’yu’s medicine dulling the worst of the pain.

They didn’t see many people on their way up. A few servants flattened themselves against the walls of the stairwell as they passed, their hands up in mute surrender. On one floor Kahlil did catch a glimpse of the flowing coats of a group of priests disappearing down a corridor, but they didn’t notice John and Kahlil. It wasn’t until they were high enough that Kahlil could feel the sparking energy of the gateway that linked the Black Tower with Rathal’pesha and whatever was left of Umbhra’ibaye that they encountered anyone else.

Kahlil almost ran into the man. He was out of breath, his vision spotting with the elevation and the exhaustion of the climb, so he almost missed the tall figure that stood blocking the corridor. At the last minute, Kahlil caught himself and straightened up. They were of a height, so the hood did nothing to obscure either his own identity or his line of sight to the man’s face. Kahlil felt the blood rush quickly to his cheeks, his heart already racing with the climb. He had come face-to-face with Ushman Dayyid.

 

***

 

John stared alternately between Kyle and the strange man who stood blocking the hallway. They were nearly the same height--perhaps a half-inch difference--and shared the same dark eyes John had come to know so well. The newcomer’s refined and pale skin was marred by old and faded scars that cut across the flesh of his fists, clenched at his sides, and on the skin of his neck peeking above the dark collar at his throat. The way Kyle was looking at him obviously indicated he knew him. John tried to quickly sort through the information Kyle had told him about his history in Basawar but drew a blank. 

“Kyle, we need to--” he started, but he felt it then, the blaze of angry energy thrumming through their bond. It was a level of hatred that John had never felt before, radiating up through the connection they shared. A hatred he hoped he’d never feel again from Kyle. 

Kyle said something to the other man in Baswar, his voice low and dangerous. John noticed that his hand was resting atop the knife in his belt.

The man blocking the passage smiled thinly. He looked eerily calm next to Kyle’s fierce tension. He responded in Basawar and whatever he said make Kyle turn to John. 

“You need to go, now,” Kyle said. “Just keep going up, she’ll be at the top. I need to take care of something.” There was no time for any platitudes, but Kyle did offer him the tiniest of smilies, just a small quirk of his lips.

John’s chest clenched around his rapidly beating heart. He had no idea where he was and he certainly didn’t want to leave Kyle alone with a man who had such a murderous look in his eyes. But the steely confidence he saw in Kyle’s dark gaze gave him his own courage to press on. And yet, there was an oily question in the back of his mind that kept slithering through to the forefront.  _ What if this is my last moment?  _

He felt torn between going after Laurie and staying to make sure that Kyle was alright. He knew whom he wanted to choose. He’d pick Kyle every time, but there was a part of himself that knew he had to go after Laurie. She’d been dragged into all of this because of John’s own connection to Basawar. He closed his eyes and inhaled. When he opened them, Kyle had turned back to the man and shifted into a deeper stance. 

Before he left to find Laurie, he knew he had to say it. Despite how good Kyle had always claimed to be at fighting, despite how good John was  _ supposed  _ to be at causing destruction, there was a traitorous suspicion in his mind that he and Kyle might never see each other again once he turned and headed farther up the Black Tower. This was the moment. 

“I love you, Kyle,” he said quietly--perhaps too softly, for he feared Kyle had missed it. 

Kyle turned after a moment’s pause, just a tiny movement of his head that kept his opponent in his peripheral vision. “John,” he breathed, his lips parted just slightly and his eyes bright. He spoke in Basawar again, more loudly than the whisper of John’s name. For the briefest moment, he stepped closer to John. “I love you, too.” When he spoke, his voice was firm.

John wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but it wasn’t the overwhelming sense of complete devastation he felt at the thought of leaving now. He almost reached out, but Kyle had already turned back to the man before him. John clenched his fist and let it fall back to his side. Kyle had work to finish, and so did John. But Kyle loved him, too.  _ Loved him.  _ That was all that mattered in the end. Somehow, they would manage to end this and come back to one another. They would go home and be together for all of their days.

It was that thought that kept John going as he turned away from his lover and ran up the rest of the steps to the next landing.  _ I’ll see him again _ , he repeated to himself as he climbed up what seemed like an endless string of stairways and landings. The farther up he went, the fewer and fewer people he saw. The servants they’d noticed on the lower levels were nowhere to be found. And replacing them was a growing sensation of dread and power humming all over John’s skin like a fine mist. 

It was a strange energy, one he almost recognized.  _ Laurie?  _ The fact that he could even begin to recognize an ephemeral sensation, he didn’t care to contemplate. He simply followed it, sometimes forking to the left or right rather than taking another path, and he felt confident he’d taken the right ones when he finally made it to what seemed to be the very topmost landing.

Above his head, there was only ceiling and no stairways led off to either side. To his left, there was a set of large iron doors. Curling, faded English script curved above and around the doors’ outer edges. John squinted, but found he couldn’t read them, and felt he’d wasted precious time in trying. He rolled his shoulders back and strode to the doors, bracing his hands on the heavy handles. When he pulled initially, they didn’t budge. They could have been locked, but on his second pull, John pushed some of his own pulsating energy into his hands and the doors came freely. What he revealed inside stole his breath away. 

Bodies of men littered the stone floor and drew John’s eyes all the way from the threshold towards a raised dais in the center of the room. A dais on which stood a large table and--

“Laurie!” John called out her name, but she didn’t raise her head to look at him. 

John forgot about the other bodies and the reason they might be there. His mind took on a singular purpose and he picked his way across the stones to get to Laurie. She’d been chained down somehow and he immediately set to trying to release her. Whatever metal the chains had been made with foiled his attempts. 

Laurie was covered in blood and the scars from dozens of shallow cuts ran up the smooth white skin inside her wrists. Her eyes were open, but they looked far away and cloudy, like they were gazing through the ceiling and into the sky beyond.

Alarm cut through his thoughts and he stopped with the chains for a moment. 

“Laurie…” John whispered, pressing his palm to her face and stroking a cheekbone with his thumb. “I’m going to get you out of this.”

He redoubled his efforts on the chains--trying to do as he’d done with the doors before and pushing energy into his hands. He pulled with all of his strength, but the chains held fast. Laurie’s skin suffered from John’s attempts, red imprints blooming along her upper arms and thighs. John stopped and tried to concentrate. He thought about the time at the beach when he’d called up the beginnings of the storm. The problem was, he hadn’t been  _ trying  _ then. There was nothing at stake. Now… 

He closed his eyes softly and breathed. Slowly in and slowly out. The soft, muffled sounds of men shouting below could be heard when he stilled himself. Tuning that out, he focused on the sounds in this room--Laurie’s rasping breath, a snuffling noise John didn’t recognize, but felt mildly alarmed by, the hiss of wind buffeting the Tower…

He felt it then. The rush of energy he’d been looking for. John didn’t wait. He reached out, took hold of the chains again and ripped them free of Laurie’s body. After throwing them to the floor in a heap, he lifted Laurie’s head, cradling her to his chest. 

“Laurie? Can you wake up?”

After a few moments that were too tense for John to breath properly, Laurie began to stir. John felt her fine, silky hair tangle in his fingers as she shifted her head just slightly. Her eyelids fluttered rapidly before her eyes cracked open and she looked at him, her gaze back in the present. “John?” she asked, her voice a hoarse whisper. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Intense relief rushed through his body and John almost doubled over with the weight of it. Laurie was alive and sane enough to speak expletives. They were okay. John laughed--a slightly manic edge creeping into his tones, “We can talk later. I’ve got to get you out of here first.”

John bent over and gently lifted Laurie’s body off the stone table, tucking her in close. As he turned, the strange shuffling noise he’d heard from earlier reappeared and John stopped. He slowly craned his neck back to glance over his shoulder and his heart clenched. From behind an archway, Frank--Fikiri stumbled out. He was covered in blood--probably not all of it his own--and a murderous gleam twisted through his gaze when he saw John with Laurie. 

“I just want to help her,” John said, remembering Fikiri’s obsession with her. Perhaps he’d see reason if he knew John just wanted to save Laurie.

But the hatred that flickered in hazel eyes told John he had a big problem. 

“Give her to me,” Fikiri said, his voice weak and labored. 

Laurie’s body tensed in John’s arms at Fikiri’s words. “Stay away from me,” she growled in his direction. She turned her head back to look at John, her eyes wide and her lip trembling. “You were right, John. He’s dangerous. You have no idea. He can move so quickly.”

“I know,” John said, turning to face Fikiri fully. “Laurie, can you stand?”

“I think so,” Laurie said. “Everything they did to me healed like magic.”

John tried not to focus on  _ everything they did to me _ and said, “Yeah. Comes from being the Rifter.” 

He set her down and though she wobbled, Laurie stood. John stepped in front of her, putting his body between hers and Fikiri’s. 

“We don’t want any trouble,” John said loudly enough for Fikiri to hear. “I just want to get her out of here. To keep her safe.”

Fikiri straightened as much as he could with what appeared to be a nasty injury to his abdomen, if John had to guess. “I’ll keep her safe.” He flung out a hand. “Laurie…Haven’t I tried to protect you?”

Laurie’s face contorted into a look of disgust, and she shook her head slowly back and forth. “You brought me here. You gave me to them. You can’t make up for that by drawing it out when you get cold feet. I think I’ve seen enough of you to know that you would have given them what they wanted eventually.” She hunched her shoulders and crossed her arms over her chest. “If you want to protect me, then help me leave. And don’t try to follow us.”

Fikiri’s face fell and he dropped his arm back to his side. John thought Fikiri might say something else, but he didn’t. Instead, his eyes sharpened and he raised a hand to his lips. Chills broke out over John’s spine. Fikiri disappeared. Within seconds, he reappeared directly before John and shoved him away from Laurie. 

John should have been prepared. He knew about Kyle’s skills and that Fikiri possessed them as well. But he stumbled backwards at the deceptive power in Fikiri’s hands. John staggered and blinked, Fikiri had a hand around Laurie’s bicep. 

“Let her go!” John shouted. 

Fikiri ignored him, already bringing his free hand up to his lips. 

John froze. If Fikiri dragged Laurie into the Gray Space, he’d never find them again. 

Laurie twisted in Fikiri’s hold until they were face-to-face. They looked almost like a happy couple that had pushed themselves into an intimate embrace, Fikiri’s scarred forearm pressed tightly against the small of Laurie’s back. “Do you want to help me or not, Frank?” Laurie asked, her voice suddenly soft and sad.

Fikiri blinked at her, his eyes serious and forlorn. “Yes.”

Laurie smiled, widening her blue eyes. John wondered for a moment whether it was a true smile, or if Laurie really could act that well. “Then help us leave,” she insisted, pushing a palm against Fikiri’s chest. “You know we can never stay here and be safe.”

Fikiri’s lips flattened into a thin line and his brows furrowed. After a moment, he released her and stepped back. John thought they were in the clear until he heard the close sound of swift footsteps echoing off the walls in the chamber. He spun around to see six men running into the room. He tensed, his hand going to the knife Hann’yu had given him. 

He wasn’t quite sure what he would do with the knife, but he drew it out of its sheath anyway and held it firm in front of himself and by extension, Laurie. His first thought was that there would be no way to defend against six other people, but he remembered shoving back the Fai’daum guards in Kyle’s cell with his Rifter powers. Perhaps he could do so again if he could only figure out how to tap into that particular well of strength. Pushing power into his hands felt like so small a thing in comparison. 

“Laurie, do you know how to use any of your power? Any at all?” John asked over his shoulder. 

Laurie glanced at him, then turned a worried look toward Fikiri, who stayed silent. “No,” she said finally. “They told me that it would come soon, but it never did. Frank never let them finish the rituals.”

John frowned. Part of him felt glad she hadn’t yet ceased to feel normal, but another was consumed by rage at the thought of the torture she must have undergone--

They were out of time. Before John could finish the thought three of the six men charged at them and John simply reacted. 

In the end, it was easier than he’d imagined--as though it didn’t require any conscious thought. He simply raised his arm in a natural reflex to guard his body and when he did, a wave of energy swept through him and out towards the men. They didn’t go flying, but they did tumble backwards. Two of them fell and the third was pushed into a wall. It was a start. 

“You got superpowers?” Laurie demanded, her mouth open as she watched the men stumble to their feet. She took an involuntary step backward and stumbled herself when one of the guards started toward her.

“Long story,” John said offhandedly as another of the men started towards him. 

They had split up now, some skirting behind him towards Laurie and even Fikiri. John had no time to focus on Laurie after a minute because his personal attacker came at him with a black bladed knife. John barely missed getting his stomach sliced open when the man swiped viciously at his middle. He reacted with his own knife, slashing wildly without any skill or control. The man soon realized John’s lack of acumen with the blade and exploited it, moving effortlessly out of the way and sneaking in with lightning fast attacks of his own. 

The first cut barely registered with all the adrenaline pumping through John’s veins. It was the deep plunge into John’s side that got his attention. He staggered, the pain at a level that drew a sharp breath from him but not enough to stop him. John’s eyes focused and ragged anger ignited in his mind. He tossed the knife. It was useless to him anyway. Instead, he focused on using those pulses of energy. 

Just as he was about to concentrate on blasting his attacker out of knife-slashing range, he heard a pained cry.  _ Laurie.  _ He hadn’t successfully split his focus. John cursed himself and turned. 

Laurie was on her knees, the black blade of another knife embedded high in her left shoulder. John saw her thin, shaking fingers wrap around the handle and she ripped it free with a sob. The blade clattered to the floor and Laurie screamed up into the face of the man standing over her.

John forgot about his own attacker and went to her, reactive worry and fear taking over his senses. Immediately, he pressed a hand to the wound. Blood poured between his fingers. 

“This will heal,” he said, more to himself than to her. “We just need to keep it--”

An arm wrapped around John’s throat and and another pair of hands grabbed at the hand he’d used to staunch the flow from Laurie’s wound. The two men hauled him backwards and John thrashed in their grip. 

Laurie was breathing heavily, her hands pressed hard against the tile floor. Her eyes were open but she didn’t seem to be looking at anything at all. John had a moment to wonder if this is what he looked like when his powers manifested. Then the wind began to whistle through the high ceilings of the chamber. The floor shook beneath them and a deep crack ran up one plaster wall.

John watched as Laurie’s glassy demeanor suddenly grew even further detached and when the building shuddered from below them, he knew this uncontrolled power would only make things worse. 

“Laurie,” he rasped, the arm at his throat stifling his voice. “Laurie, just calm down!”

Laurie’s shoulders were heaving with the strength of her breaths, each one a deep sob. She looked past John and toward the men that held him. “Let him go,” she gasped between breaths. “Just let us both GO.” She shouted the last word, and the wind picked up strength as it ripped through the chamber.

The hands holding onto John’s left arm slackened their hold and he eyed the guard, whose eyes were wide and staring at Laurie’s display of energy. The arm around John’s throat didn’t release and he was feeling the lack of oxygen to his lungs. Hoping they were both distracted enough for his movements to be effective, John doubled his efforts--clawing and scraping at any flesh he could get his hands on. 

Finally, the arm loosened on his neck and John dropped all of his weight suddenly, successfully freeing himself. He didn’t wait for the guard to grab him again. He ran straight for Laurie and took her hands. 

“Laurie, you have to stop this. You could kill us all,” he said, forcing his voice into a gentle tone so he didn’t sound as panicked as he felt. 

“John,” Laurie gasped, and looked up at John, panic filling her eyes. “I can’t. It hurts so much.” She hissed in pain even as she spoke, the wind strong enough to nearly overbalance her.

He watched her hair whip around her face and the guards in the room fail to get near them. Even Fikiri was bracing himself against a pillar, eyeing her with sorrow in his gaze. John heard a keening groan from above and looked up in time to see a huge portion of the ceiling crack. 

Bits of plaster and stone fell onto the marble floors and John felt sure larger pieces of it would follow. They had to get out of here. 

“Come on!” He said, practically screaming over the wind. He gripped Laurie’s arm and lifted her up to standing. 

Just as they turned for the door, another crack rang out and John watched it start at the iron doors and snake all the way up to the ceiling. Instinctively, he pulled Laurie back and away as a gigantic portion of the ceiling and roof gave way and crashed to the floor, completely flattening one of the guards who’d been staring at Laurie in horror not a minute before. 

This building was no longer sound and Laurie was too out of control for John to do much of anything. They had to get out and the only way was to go down. The question in his mind was, could he find the way again when the structural integrity of the Black Tower was a ticking time bomb? John ripped his attention to Fikiri. 

But when he turned his eyes to the pillar where the man had been, there was nothing. John blanched. That murderer had slipped into the Gray Space without a trace, leaving John and Laurie alone to find their way.


End file.
